


Black Wolf

by thecookiemomma



Category: NCIS, The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecookiemomma/pseuds/thecookiemomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris goes to a conference in DC and puts a face to a voice from the past.  Will his infatuation with the Lone Wolf go somewhere, or will it interfere with a case?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chris scowled as he stepped off the plane. Of all the times for the ATF to plan a conference … Usually, he was on his way to stone cold drunk by now. It'd been five years, but this weekend was the anniversary of Sarah's death. He had been fully intending to stay at the ranch, drink all the booze in the house, and allow himself to remember. Instead, Travis had called him into his office, hands splayed on his desk and lips thinned in annoyance. Chris knew the AD wasn't annoyed at him, because he was grumbling about assholes and common decency. Travis had explained to him that the Powers That Be had planned a conference and made it a requirement for all team leaders. Both men knew it was probably completely bullshit, but they also knew it was the only way to make sure the new procedures were passed down through the ranks correctly.

 

He nodded at the man holding the ATF sign and grabbed his bag from the carousel. Walking toward the security checkpoint, he plastered on a smile for the other man, and tipped his hat. "Evening."

 

"Welcome to DC. Agent Larabee, right?" The young man gestured toward a standard black government sedan. "Are you in the Hilton, or one of the others?"

 

"Hilton. My IT guy got right on it. One of the last rooms, I'd heard." Chris knew he sounded smug, but he was damn proud of JD, and it showed.

 

"Lucky bastard. I'm Jack Creston. I'm local, so I get to go home every night." Now it was Creston's turn to look smug.

 

"Sounds like you're the lucky bastard then. How far of a drive is it?" Chris settled his bags into the car and moved to the passenger seat to strap himself in.

 

"Hmm? Oh, the hotel is about twenty minutes away." Creston grinned and got in himself.

 

They made small talk on the way to the way to the hotel. It took a little less time than Creston had estimated, but that wasn't a problem for Chris. He took the packet of information from him and grabbed his bags. "Thanks, Jack. Guess I'll see you at the meetings."

 

"Sure, Chris. See you then." They nodded to each other and Chris turned and strode into the hotel.

 

* * *

 

"Get me everything you've got on Corporal Taylor, McGee. Vance's riding my ass about somethin' and I'd better go see what he wants." Gibbs glared at his agent until the man nodded, and then turned to walk up the stairs to see what Leon wanted.

 

He knocked twice on the door and walked in. "Y' wanted to see me? What's goin' on?"

 

"Sit down, Gibbs." Vance waited until he had done so, then began. "With all the new technology we're using to catch criminals these days, the Justice Department has laid out a whole new set of evidentiary guidelines. They are also requiring every tram leader of every federal agency to attend a conference to learn the new procedures. Apparently, they apply to both US Code and UCMJ, so that's every damn agency from us to FBI, ATF.."

 

"Whole damn alphabet soup," Gibbs nodded. "When?"

 

"Keep in mind that I have been trying to get a hold of you for about a week, but that damn case. . . " Leon groused, waving his hand.

 

"Lemme guess. Today. Don't worry, Leon, Diane used to do the same thing." He snorted at the offended look on Vance's face. "Gimme the details, and let me tell the team. They can run the case without me for the weekend."

 

"I'm a little surprised, Gibbs. Usually you're foaming at the mouth and completely unwilling to attend one of these. What's changed?" Leon grabbed a toothpick and slid it into his mouth.

 

"Heard about it from Balboa, and Abby's been nagging me to get her some new stuff, but there weren't rules for it. I'm not a complete dinosaur, Leon." He grinned. He knew what the younger agents thought about him.

 

"Never said you were. Here's the paperwork. Mixer starts at four. Play nice."

 

"Where's the fun in that, Leon?" His grin widened as he stood up and walked out the door.

 

* * *

 

The meetings began at eight the next morning. Because of the number of agents, they ran four concurrent seminars. Each group would cycle through the four rooms and get the exact same information. It reminded Chris of some church thing Sarah had taken Adam to. He winced at the thought and returned his attention to the mind-numbingly boring speaker. Honestly, he was glad for the information, because they'd already run into issues with some of the newer tech. However, he did wish the speakers had a better way to phrase things. He sighed and kept taking notes. The boys would need every bit of this information.

 

Finally, the speaker wrapped up and asked for questions. An older man with salt and pepper hair spoke up, asking an extremely specific question. The others tuned toward him in surprise. He thought he heard the man say, "Abby," but wasn't sure. Whatever he said was enough to satisfy the surprised agents. He asked a couple questions of his own, writing the answers in his notes. Something about the older man niggled in the back of his brain. He didn't feel the danger warning that usually accompanied trouble, so he let the thought percolate. He turned around when the man asked another question, and found himself gazing at gorgeous blue eyes. The man quirked his lips at Chris and Chris found himself responding in kind. Soon, the seminar ended, and Chris caught up with Silver Hair. He snorted and shook his head. "Chris Larabee, Denver ATF." He stuck his hand out.

 

"Jethro Gibbs, NCIS. Most people call me Gibbs." The man grabbed his hand and shook it. Chris felt that same feeling.

 

"Have we met before?" Chris frowned, trying to place him.

 

"Possible," Gibbs replied. "Been in law enforcement for a lot of years."

 

"Huh. I'll have to think about it." He grinned. "We both have to sit through this SNAFU. Wanna sit together and commiserate?"

 

Gibbs grunted, but since Chris saw no sign of annoyance on his face, so he counted it as an acquiescence.  _ Well, now, _ an inner voice that sounded a lot like Ezra said,  _ things just might be improving considerably. _

 

* * *

 

Gibbs sat beside the ATF agent. The man's question had made him think. He had begun trying to remember all the ATF agents he'd ever met, but that wasn't very many and this Larabee didn't even remind him of any of them. He did feel like he knew the man. Something about him seemed familiar. He frowned, pen scribbling in his notebook as the speaker continued. He wasn't as interested in the information he got here as he had been in the early morning session. Abby had given him very specific instructions as to what questions she wanted answered. He supposed he should have had Tim give him a list of questions too, but that wouldn't have been as much help. He understood at least a little of what his Forensic Scientist did, but McGee's Geek Speak could have been Greek – well, no, he understood a little Greek. He sighed, and looked over at Larabee again. The man was definitely taking the words in and writing copious notes. He glanced down at his watch.  _ Damn. Another hour of this shit. _ He rolled his eyes, and wrote something down, hoping he was getting it all right. Luckily, this lecture had handouts. McGee could get the information from them. 

 

He needed a cup of coffee. He'd have to remember to bring a huge cup after lunch break.  _ Wonder if ATF wants to eat here, or if … _ he let his thought trail off. He was already assuming too much. He gave himself a mental headslap, and refocused on the lecture. 

 

The hour passed and Larabee was the one to bring up lunch. “What are you doing for lunch? You're a local, right? I bet you know where the best places to eat are.”

 

Gibbs smirked. “Sure do. You want to come along?”

 

“Well,” ATF looked nervous. “I'd have to rent a car. I got a ride from the airport. JD could get me the room, but he couldn't find me a rental car.” 

 

“Or, you could just ride with me.” Gibbs chuckled. “Gotta warn you: my driving is kinda legendary around here.” 

 

“Oh? Good or bad?” Larabee smirked. 

 

Gibbs just looked at him, and Chris understood. He chuckled softly at the look. “You ready?” Gibbs gestured toward the door.

 

“Yeah, let me get my hat.” Gibbs quirked his brow, but waited in the foyer for the man to go up to his room. Five minutes later, he emerged from the elevator wearing a black Stetson. _Black_ Something bothered him about that, but he let it slide. 

 

* * *

Chris followed Gibbs out of the hotel and got into the bright yellow Challenger. He whistled at the gorgeous car, and the other man looked over with a smile.  _ Gorgeous car, gorgeous smile _ He caught himself before he could go any further than that with his thoughts. For all he knew, the man was straight as a pole and as intolerant as he could be. He lowered himself into the car and held on. 

 

It was a good thing he'd ridden with Ezra a few times. It prepared him for Gibbs' brand of driving. He was reminded of a couple of the men who'd driven through fire when he'd …

 

“You ever serve, Gibbs?” 

 

“Semper Fi. Yeah. I was a Gunnery Sergeant.” Gibbs gazed over at him, and smirked. “You?” 

 

“Team Six.” If Gibbs was a Marine, he would know what that meant. 

 

“No shit, really?” Gibbs swerved, and then straightened out the wheel. Apparently, he had shocked the man. He was silent for a long while, and then he frowned. “Six. . . ” He pulled into a small parking lot to a diner. He looked over at Chris, and Chris could see that the man was probably a superb interrogator. He could see what the team meant about the “Larabee Glare.” 

 

“Somethin' you wanna say,” he drawled, more nervous than annoyed. 

 

“You're Captain Black.” 

 

Now it was Chris' turn to be shocked. He'd used that alias for a couple ops in Indian Country, and only the people who had been there would know that. The niggling thought in his mind became a roar. “Lone Wolf.” The voice in his ear. He'd had dreams about the man behind that voice. Lone Wolf had been the sniper on the hill for one of his missions, and he'd only heard a little from him. The man had said nothing extraordinary, but he'd made an impact. Chris was young, stupid, and perpetually horny. Before Sarah had tamed him, he'd been a wild, dangerous man. Buck could attest to that.

 

“Yup.” Gibbs' eyes flashed. “C'mon. Let's figure this out over burgers. Elaine makes the best burgers in the area. Figured you'll like 'em.” 

 

“Hell, yeah.” Chris grinned, and got out of the car, locking his door behind him. Gibbs did the same, and the two men walked inside. 


	2. Chapter 2

Gibbs ushered Larabee into Elaine's. He nodded over at Elaine, and grinned when she brightened up.

 

“Gibbs!” She bustled over to see him. “I see you've brought a friend. You all must be hungry.” 

 

“Yes'm,” Larabee replied, tipping his hat at the lady. Gibbs chuckled at Elaine's response. 

 

“Well, now. He's as polite as you, Gibbs.” She chuckled. “Coffee?” 

 

“Yes please. Large. I've only had one cup this whole morning.” Gibbs mock-pouted.   


“Any deaths?” Elaine teased him.

 

“Not yet, but it was getting close.” Larabee piped in. 

 

“I behaved. I don't want Leon mad at me. Not for somethin' this small.” Both the others snorted at his comment, and he grinned. “You want coffee, too, Larabee?” 

 

“Sure. Little bit of sugar in mine, please?” 

 

“Sure enough,” Elaine nodded and set the menus down in front of them. Gibbs gazed at them to make sure they were the same, but then folded his and set it on the table. He already knew what he wanted to eat. He'd been craving one of the burgers all morning. He watched his guest as the man perused the menu. 

 

“Burger looks about the best, I think.” Larabee folded his menu too, and gazed at Gibbs. Gibbs wondered if he had a similar method of interrogation. _It'd be pretty damn effective,_ he thought. “Lone Wolf.” He shook his head, looking down at his hands. “Wow. Been a long damn time. I owe you a beer or three, you know that?” 

 

Gibbs grunted. “Just doin' my job.” He'd never get used to the men thanking him for taking a shot. It was what he was trained for.

 

Elaine returned with the coffees, and the two men ordered. Their burger orders were fairly similar, and she chuckled as she wrote them down. “Where you from, son? You sure don't seem like a local.”

 

“Denver, ma'am,” he replied. Gibbs frowned. That was halfway across the country. 

 

“What brings you to DC?” 

 

“Conference.” Elaine nodded at his response, and went to go turn in the order. 

 

They sat quietly, Gibbs sipping at his coffee, and Larabee swirling his around. “So. . . ” The ATF agent broke the silence. “I don't know anything about you, except that you could shoot the nuts off a fly at a mile away.”

 

Gibbs chuckled, glad he'd finished his sip of coffee. “And you're a damn good SEAL, or were. To pull that off. . . ” He shook his head. “Tell me about your team.”

 

The other man's face lit up. “There's seven of us. Big for a team, but we do both long-term undercover ops and short term busts, sometimes simultaneously, so seven's a good round number for it.” He sipped at his coffee and sighed happily. “Buck's my 2IC. He's – well, if you remember that op, he was Sergeant Gray.”

 

“Gray? I heard he never met a woman he didn't like.” 

 

“Yeah, that's ol' Bucklin.” Larabee laughed. “He's been my friend since high school. His momma was a dancer and they moved up to Indiana from Vegas. She was trying to do right by him, and he appreciated it. He grew up around all those dancers. It's why he loves the ladies so much.” 

 

“Makes sense,” Gibbs nodded. “Who else?” 

 

“Then, there's Vin. He used to work with the Marshals, but he's my sharpshooter now. Vin Tanner. Was in the Rangers.” 

 

“Mighta heard of him, too.” Gibbs took another long draught of coffee. 

 

“Yeah, I wondered. Small damn world in SPECOPS.” The blond grinned. 

 

Gibbs grunted again, and sighed. “So, he any good?”

 

“Who? Vin? Yeah, he's about as good as you. Might be fun to test that someday.” Larabee grinned at him, and Gibbs blinked. _If I wasn't … did he just. . . ?_ He shoved the stray thought aside and was about to ask another question when Elaine returned with their burgers. 

 

“Looks good, ma'am. My compliments to the chef.” Larabee winked at her, and Gibbs chuckled. 

 

“You've been around Gray too many years, Black,” Gibbs pointed out. 

 

“Hell, yes, I have. Wouldn't have met my. . . ” The bright smile that appeared on the ATF agent's face disappeared and a flash of something very familiar crossed his face. Gibbs winced, unable to keep his reaction to himself. Larabee glared, and Gibbs waved it off, lifting his burger up to take a bite. 

 

It was Larabee's turn to ask a question. “Still workin' alone, Wolf?”

 

“Nope.” Gibbs would make him work for it. He preferred to see anger instead of the raw grief he'd seen earlier. 

 

“You got a team? I'm shocked. Tell me about 'em.” And sure enough, Black asked the question. 

 

“Well, there's four of us. Tony's my 2IC. Tony DiNozzo. He looks like a frat boy on the outside, but inside is one of the sharpest minds I've met. He plays off as the class clown and village idiot, but people tell him all sorts of shit when he grins. Man's a genius undercover, too.” 

 

“Yeah, I've got a good U/C man, too. Ezra Standish. Used to be a Feeb, but we took him in. Got involved with cleaning up some of that mess in Atlanta a while back.” 

 

“I heard about a little of that. My FBI … Guy I know told me about it.” He did consider Fornell a friend, but it sounded so weird to say so. Larabee must have caught his feeling anyway, because he gave Gibbs a knowing smirk. “What?” 

 

“Nothin'.” Now Larabee smirked at him, and took a bite of his burger. After he'd chewed and swallowed, he asked another question. “So, you've got a goofy idiot U/C man. Who else?” 

 

“Tim McGee is my tech guy. He's a Navy brat, and he was a greenhorn when I got him. It was kinda cute the way he'd duck outta the way when I'd storm through the bullpen.” 

 

Larabee chortled at his comment, and nodded. “I've got one of  _ those _ , too. John Daniel Dunne. JD. He's my tech, and I got him right out of FLETC. Hell if he didn't almost salute me. I didn't want to break him, but I wanted him to toughen up. He's done that. Bucklin took him in.” 

 

“Gray's mentoring him? Oh, boy.” Gibbs could picture the trouble that big man could get a younger man into. 

 

“Yeah, I know. But he's doing a fairly good job. They live together. The kids call the place 'The CDC.'” 

 

“Growin' things?” Gibbs understood immediately.

 

“Yeah.” They fell silent for a little while, and then Gibbs spoke again.

 

“Last one's Eleanor Bishop. She's my new hire. Only had her for a few months.” 

 

“Yeah?” The other man was picking at his fries now. They needed to finish up soon and get back to the conference, but they had enough time for a little more chit-chat. 

 

“Yeah. She's on loan from the NSA, and damn if she can't get inside a perp's head. Found us a terrorist just by thinkin' like 'em.” 

 

“Sounds like my Josiah.” The man pronounced the name with the emphasis on the _siah_ , almost eliding the rest of the name. “Josiah Sanchez. He's my profiler, and he can do pretty much the same thing.” 

 

“Sounds like a good, round team.” Gibbs ticked off the names Larabee had mentioned thus far. “That's six, though. Who's your last?” 

 

“Nathan Jackson. Used to be in the Corps. He's my medic.” 

 

“Huh.” Gibbs didn't know the man by name, but the Corps were huge, and he didn't know every Marine, even if DiNozzo liked to insinuate otherwise. “We go to our ME for shit like that.” 

 

“Your Medical Examiner? He on the team?” The ATF agent looked intrigued. 

 

“Nope.” He glanced down at his watch and waved Elaine over. “Two coffees to go, and the check.” 

 

“Sure, Gibbs.” She walked away again, and Gibbs waited for Larabee to ask. 

 

“So, you just call him out there when you need him?” 

 

“Yup. Ducky. Donald Mallard.” 

 

“Donald Mallard. Poor guy. I see why he goes by 'Ducky.'” 

 

Gibbs snorted again, and paid Elaine. He handed one of the coffees to Larabee, brushing off the other man's protests. “You can buy supper.” He winked.

 

“Sounds like a plan. Ready to ride?” Larabee slid his hat back on his head, and they walked to the car. 

 

The trip back was silent, and together, they made their way to the third session.

 

* * *

Tony DiNozzo looked up at the plasma screen. “So, let me get this straight. We can't find Cpl. Taylor or  _ Mrs.  _ Taylor, and the last known location for the kid was the playground with the nanny. Is that right? 

 

“Yeah.” Tim flicked through the information on the screen, gesturing to one sheet of paper, zooming it in. “And the kid is the one who has the SD card. It's in something in his backpack, as near as I can figure. We're not sure it's got anything Top Secret on it, but it probably does.” 

 

“It could've been a simple mistake,” Bishop piped in. “I mean, kids grab the wrong thing all the time. Maybe it was in someone's tablet or phone, and he grabbed the wrong card. My cousin did that. She ended up with her sister's music instead of her own. They fought over it for weeks.” 

 

“Okay, I can see that, but we need proof. And now, we've got a missing kid. I mean, if he doesn't turn up at home in the next eighteen hours, we'll have to set up an Amber Alert and get Missing Persons in on it. Personally, I'd like to see him back with … well, with _someone_ before then, and I'd like to get a hold of that card before the MI guys rip off my head and shout down my throat.” 

 

“Thanks for that picture, Tony,” Tim groused. 

 

“You're very welcome, Probie,” Tony replied. “Okay, so Bishop, you keep on the parents. They were going out of town, but they didn't say where. At least not to anyone we've interviewed. Something's hinky. I don't know if it's them or something else, but something's weird. I want to find out what.” He turned to Tim. “McGee, you work on the kid. Scan through camera footage and school records and whatever. See if we can find Michael Taylor Junior. The more I think about this, the more worried I get. If you want, rope Abby into helping you with it. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.” 

 

“What are you gonna do?” Tim asked, his voice more curious than condemning. 

 

“I, Probilicious, am going to call my contacts and see if anyone has spotted the Taylors – any of them. Then, I'm going to do a couple more things to see if I can figure out if the kid intended to take the card or not. Anything can help, as you know.” 

 

“Sounds good. I'll call you if I get anything, Tony.” Bishop nodded and moved to sit on the floor with her laptop. McGee stood up, going down to see if Abby could help. 

 

* * *

Corporal Michael Taylor sat by the fire. "Shels, this was an awesome idea. I mean, just for the weekend, and then we'll go get Mick and go see your parents."

 

"Pauline has been a godsend, Mikey," Shelley Taylor replied. "Mick really likes her, and they were going to go to the zoo. He's been asking me to go for weeks, but by the time I'd get home from work and get the house taken care of, I'd be exhausted." She leaned against her husband and ran her hands down his chest.

 

“Denver has a good zoo, I've heard. If she can't take him, we'll go with your family.” He grinned. 

 

Shelley nodded. “That'd work.” She sighed, hand splayed out across his pecs. "I missed you so much. I'm glad you don't have to go back for awhile. Maybe we can uh. . . "

 

Mike lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "What's up, honey? What's on your mind?"

 

"Well," she sighed, sliding her hand higher. "We'd talked about another one. . . "

 

"We did. You sure?" Mike leaned into his wife's touch.

 

"Mmm-hmmm," Shelley turned to face her husband, her intentions clear.

 

"Ma'am, yes ma'am," Mike replied, not even feigning disagreement. He scooped her up and carried her to their tent, enjoying her giggles the whole way.


	3. Chapter 3

"You like steak?" Chris looked over at his friend.

 

Instead of answering, Gibbs just gave him a look he knew extremely well. The boys called it his "no shit, Sherlock" look. He snorted.

 

"Have to ask, Gunny. You never know in this man's service anymore." He grinned over at the man and gestured toward the door. "Pick a place with good steak. My dime."

 

Chris could see Gibbs thinking, and waited. The older man considered an option, but just as quickly discarded it. After a quiet moment, he nodded. "Yeah, c'mon. Might be crowded with everybody in town, but still good. Plus," Chris saw the man smirk, "they know me."

 

Chris snorted again, and the two men headed out to the car. They rode in silence for a couple moments, and then Chris spike up. "Hell of a time for this."

 

"Huh?" The NCIS agent wasn't following, which didn't surprise him in the least.

 

"They picked the worst weekend to do this." He didn't know why he was confiding in the man. Chris liked him, sure, but he didn't talk about Sarah and Adam to anybody. Josiah had insinuated that was part of the problem, but it was just how Chris was.

 

"Big game?" Gibbs looked over to him and swerved into the other lane to pass.

 

"Nope. Usually spend this weekend drunk." Chris admitted, fiddling with his seat belt.

 

Gibbs gazed over at him for as long as he was able safely, and a little beyond that.

The silence lasted until they sat down to eat.

 

* * *

 

Gibbs knew that tone of voice. He knew what it meant to spend the whole weekend drunk. Intentionally. He gazed over at the other agent until he had to look back at the road.  _ Damn. I wouldn't wish this shit on anyone else. _ He held his tongue, unsure of how his sympathy – or empathy – would be received. 

 

They sat down and ordered, and Gibbs cast about for something to talk about. “Your tech guy gonna be able to use that new doohickey?” The seminar was the easiest thing, and Gibbs was glad for the change in topic, at least for the moment.

 

Larabee seemed to be glad as well. He nodded, going into a description of what his youngest would do. McGee and this other guy would scowl to hear how they thought of them, but they were the youngest in the group, and played that role well.

 

They intentionally kept the conversation light as they ate. Gibbs was curious, but it wasn't for a case, and he didn't want to push. He had a feeling that ATF Agent Christopher Larabee was one hell of a mean drunk.

 

He dropped the man off at the hotel and waved. “Guess the meetings don't start until one tomorrow. I guess I'll see ya then.”

 

The blond nodded, and strode into the hotel. Gibbs wished he knew whether he was abandoning someone else to the horrors of a night alone when you weren't used to it. He would have given almost anything to have someone near enough to talk to for a while. He didn't know how long it had been since Larabee had lost his light, but he had. That much was obvious. He pursed his lips as he watched the man walk away, and then pressed down the pedal when he disappeared inside.

 

He drove away. It wouldn't hurt to do a cursory look into his new friend.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, JD, do me a favor. This isn't for a case or anything, I just want to know if there's somethin' I need to be watching out for. Can you look a guy up for me?” Chris leaned back against the headboard, boots toed off. “Agent Gibbs, NCIS. Head of their MCRT.” 

 

“Sure, Chris, I can do that.” JD's enthusiastic voice came out of the speakers, and Chris had to bite back a grin. “Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Served in Desert Storm I and was sent home after an explosion. Started working with NCIS – it was NIS then – and he's got commendations out the wazoo, Chris. He's a great agent, but the muckety-mucks don't like him none.” 

 

“Any, JD. They don't like him any. I can see why.” Chris felt his lips curl into a grin. He liked Gibbs plenty. In … plenty of ways. 

 

“Right, Boss,” JD agreed. “ Personal life's been interesting. Three divorces. . . ” He paused, and Chris could hear the clicking of keys and the sharp intake of breath. 

 

“Spit it out, JD.” 

 

“Right, Chris. You won't shoot me for this, will ya?” Chris frowned. 

 

“I can't shoot you, Kid, you're all the way up in Denver, and I'm all the way down on sea level. Tell me.” Chris waved his hand, as though JD were standing at his desk stonewalling because he and Vin had pranked the team. Again.

 

“Uh, Chris, it looks like he was serving, and his wife and kid got …” 

 

“Not a car bomb?” That'd be too much. 

 

“No, thank God. They were material witnesses in a drug case. The NIS agent who was protecting them was shot while ferrying them around, and they were killed in the crash. He didn't hear about it until he'd been blown up.” 

 

_ So, pretty much the reverse. _ He ran his hand down his face. “Thank you, JD. It explains some things.” 

 

“Everything okay, Chris? I mean, you're not in any kind of trouble?” 

 

“I'm alright. Just tryin' to figure somethin' out.” 

 

“Oh, okay. Well, good luck.” Chris sighed. 

 

“It's a personal thing, Kid. I'll be alright.” He hated when they got worried, but he knew it was the way it was. They all could count just as well as he could. 

 

“Alright. Well, uh, if you need any of us, we're all kinda parked at your place. Watchin' the horses and everything.” 

 

“Don't drink all my beer.” Chris smiled again. He was glad they were all there. 

 

“Oh, no, Chris. Buck bought more. We know better.” He could see the kid's grin in his mind, and it mirrored itself on his face. "See ya soon, Chris.” 

 

“Bye.” Chris hung up and flipped lazily through the channels, trying to find something to watch, letting his mind process the fact that he'd found a kindred spirit – someone who knew _exactly_ what he was feeling. The fact that it was Lone Wolf just made it better. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Pauline, I'm tellin' you, you don't need that damn job.” Earl McCallen scowled at his step-daughter. “You could be at home, doin' all the same things, and not . . . ” 

 

“And not gettin' paid for it, Daddy.” Pauline stood in front of him, chin jutting out. “Now why are you around? You never come over to this side of the country if you can help it. What's goin' on?” 

 

“Don't you give me no lip, girl.” Earl raised his hand, and the boy whimpered. Pauline held him closer. “And why do you got that brat now? Ain't he supposed to be home?” 

 

Pauline noticed that her daddy didn't answer the question. “Leave him alone, Daddy. He doesn't have anything to do with this. His momma and daddy are out campin' for the weekend, and they'll be home tomorrow. I need to get him home, or someone's gonna come lookin'. If they ain't already.”

 

Earl harrumphed, and turned away, reaching for his bottle. “Well, you and me got business, Pauline-jellybean.” 

 

Pauline sighed. “What do you need now?” She knew it. It was the only reason he'd come this far east.

 

“Need you to find out when the new models come out.” He slid her a piece of paper. 

 

“You couldn't have someone lookin' on the Internet for you?” She glanced over it. 

 

“Nope. Besides, the stuff on that list ain't published yet.” Which only meant that Earl had had someone look, and they either were too stupid to find it, or the list was classified. Inwardly, she groaned. She wasn't going to enjoy this either way. 

 

“What you got there?” Earl had fallen silent and looked down at the kid. Mickey was standing still, holding on to his tablet. “Lemme see.” He took the tablet, and slid it into his pocket. “Been meanin' to get myself one o' these. Thanks, Kid!” 

 

Pauline knew the small tablet wasn't something worth getting hit over, so she let it slide. “I'll buy you a new one, Mickey Mouse,” she whispered. “I need to get him home, Daddy.”

 

“Yeah, g'wan.” Earl waved her off. “Best you mind what I said, Pauline.” 

 

“Yes, Daddy.” The two of them left the building and rushed out to the car. 

 

“Was he really your daddy, Pauline?” 

 

“No sir, thank the Lord above. He married my momma, though.” She buckled her charge in, and they headed back to the house. “I'm sorry about your doodad. I'll get you a new one.” 

 

“It's okay. He was a bully.” Pauline smiled. Mickey was as good as his dad. 

 

“You got that right. C'mon. I think we've got chocolate milk at home.” She grinned in the rear view mirror, and took the exit to get them back to the Taylor's home. 

 

* * *

 

Chris sighed. They were done with this bullshit, and he was glad. Mostly. A very small part of him wanted to stay here longer and get to know Gibbs better. “You got email?” He looked over to the other man as they walked tout of the hotel. “Somethin' I can write to? I won't do it often, probably. Probably be as busy as a short kid in tall grass when I get home. . . ” He paused when Gibbs chuckled at his comparison. “Thank Vin for that one.”

 

“I will when I meet him.” Gibbs handed him a card. “Email, cell phone, office, all of it.” He looked up, and Chris was caught again by his blue eyes. “Call me if you need anything, Larabee. Anything.” 

 

“Do need one thing, Gibbs.” Chris grinned when the gaze narrowed in a question. “Call me Chris, for God's sakes.” 

 

“Chris. I can do that. I'm Jethro. Either way's good, though.” Chris had a feeling that he'd been called all sorts of things _and_ late for dinner a time or two. 

 

He held out his hand, and Jethro shook it. “It was nice to finally meet you, Lone Wolf.”

 

“You too, Captain Black.” Jethro smirked. “Safe travels. Fair winds.” 

 

“Semper Fi.” Chris nodded, and stepped out to meet Creston in his vehicle. “Thank you for the ride, Jack.” 

 

“It's no problem. You know who that is, right?” Jack eyed Gibbs with a wary gaze. 

 

“Yup.” Chris grinned, and didn't mention he'd spent the whole weekend trailing after the man like a lost puppy. 

 

* * *

 

“So, you don't have a damn thing?” Gibbs scowled. He had had his head in the clouds all weekend, and now he was paying for it. He'd learned about Chris' past and found it matched his own. That'd been bittersweet, but he couldn't do anything about it, not when the man was almost all the way across the country. Besides it'd been so long since he'd done something with another man that nobody he knew remembered he'd done so. _Ducky might,_ he reminded himself. _That man doesn't forget a thing, nor does he miss a damn thing._ He shook his head and returned to the task of interrogating his team. 

 

“Well, not precisely nothing, Boss. What we have here is a failure to communicate.” Tony's voice took on that tone when he was quoting some damn thing, and Gibbs reached over and slapped him on the back of the head. “Thank you, Boss.” He grinned, and Gibbs rolled his eyes, motioning for Tony to continue. “Corporal Taylor did what any sensible Marine would do after coming home from a tour. He took her out camping for the weekend. No guesses as to how they spent their time. Now, Mickey Taylor – bright little kid, Boss,” Gibbs nodded at the aside, and waited for the information. “Mickey was staying with Pauline Ortega. She's the kid's nanny.” 

 

“Legal?” Gibbs was hoping there was an easy out. Unfortunately, he was disappointed. 

 

“Oh, yeah. Her maiden name is Thompson, Boss. She's from Southern West Virginia. Say that three times fast.” 

 

“DiNozzo. My boot, your ass. Say _that_ three times fast.” 

 

“Okay, okay, Boss. She works as the Taylors' nanny. She lives extremely close to them, but not on base. This has happened before. When Cpl Taylor comes home, they spend a weekend away, and then they go visit her parents. Or that's kind of the plan, I guess. It hasn't happened every time, but . . . ” 

 

“Enough that it's a pattern.” Gibbs nodded, writing it down in his notebook. 

 

“Exactly. Anyway, we're in a holding pattern. We have to wait until the Taylors get home from their camping trip. It should be later today.” Tony looked up at the clock, and nodded. “Yeah.” 

 

“Okay. Did the kid know where they go to visit grandparents?” Gibbs knew it was a long shot, but he figured he'd ask. 

 

“The mountains.” Tony chuckled. “That could be any number of places, Boss.” 

 

“Yeah, really narrows it down.” He snorted, a little of his good mood returning. “What about the card?” 

 

“Uh, Boss,” Tim spoke up clearly nervous. Gibbs had to hold his smile as he was reminded of Chris' comments about his youngest teammate. 

 

_ What the hell is wrong with me? _ He pursed his lips and gestured to Tim. 

 

“We think Mickey got the card mixed up. Our best guess is that he stuck it in his tablet. The problem is that he lost his tablet. He wouldn't tell us where he dropped it.” 

 

“Did the nanny know?” Gibbs' gut was tingling

 

“She didn't say one way or the other. She just let Mickey talk. Mickey did say they talked to a man, but he wouldn't say more. He said it wasn't her fault and he liked her too much to have to lose her, too.” Bishop spoke up. 

 

“Check into Ortega. See what her background looks like. See who this bastard is she went to meet with the kid. It sounds like if she'd have had a choice, she'd've waited, or at least met somewhere when the kid was sleeping. So, maybe it was sprung on her.” 

 

“Good thought, Boss. I'll start on her background.” Tony nodded and started typing on his computer.

 

“Financials,” Tim added, beginning after Gibbs nodded. 

 

“And, uh, I guess I'll see what I can find out about what was actually on the card. I have the model number of the tablet, so at least maybe I can find out what . . . ” 

 

“Just do it, Bishop,” Gibbs cut her off. 

 

“Okay, Gibbs,” she replied and settled in to work. 

 

Gibbs opened up his email and waded through the administrative crap. He half-hoped that Chris would have emailed him. But it was just Monday afternoon. He had probably spent the rest of the day sleeping and trying to catch up.

 

“McGee!” He'd given Chris his email, but not gotten one in return. It was time to rectify that.

 

“Yes, Boss?” 

 

“Find me an email address.” He stood up, grabbing the piece of paper with Larabee's name on it. 

 

“Yes, Boss. I can do that.” He nodded, and Gibbs pursed his lips. 

 

“Goin' for coffee.” They all made a wordless sound in acknowledgment. 

 

 

* * *

 

Chris leaned back in his seat and sighed. He closed his eyes, hoping to get a little sleep before he got home. He slid his coat off his lap and pulled it up like a blanket. He fell asleep and was immediately drawn into a dream.

 

_ Chris lay beside a roaring campfire, only a thin bedroll between his back and the hard ground. His black Stetson was pulled down across his eyes, but he could hear the sounds of the wild around him, muted by the crackling of the fire. Instead of feeling every stone and plant beneath him, he felt at home on the ground. He knew Pony, his black gelding was just a few steps away. Nearby, a quiet rustling surprised him. Another man rolled out his bedroll near him.  _ _**That's right,** _ _ he remembered..  _ _**Marshall Gibbs asked me to help him find a man.** _ _ Having identified the situation, his mind settled.  _

 

_"Larabee," the man's low, gravelly voice sighed near him. "You get it figured out?"_

 

_"What?" Chris wondered how much the Marshal knew._

 

_"Whatever burr you had in your boot," Gibbs replied, his voice sounding highly amused._

 

_"Oh, yeah. Got a little disoriented for a moment." His words alarmed the other man, and he felt his hat pushed up, and worried blue eyes met his. "Tarnation! I'm fine. Just dozed off and forgot where I was for a mite."_

 

_Gibbs chuckled, squatting down to check him out in a way that had nothing to do with Chris' health. Chris had seen that intense gaze turned on a kid who had been causing a stir in town. The kid had apologized and headed back to the store where his pa had been gathering goods._

 

_"Not a troublesome kid, Gibbs." Now Chris was the one to chuckle._

 

_"Not so sure about that," Gibbs replied, his answer surprising Chris._

 

_"I do aim to be trouble, but these days it's usually to crooks and varmints."_

 

_"True enough." Gibbs stood again, giving Chris a good view of him. He wore an old blue shirt that Chris recognized intimately. He either didn't care about his clothes, or wanted everyone to know that he had served and on the winning side. Brown suspenders held up dark jeans. His hat sat back upon his head, folded more like a farmer's than a cowboy's. "Seem like a fairly straightforward man. . . " Gibbs began, sounding slightly nervous. Chris wondered what could unsettle a man so much that he'd shift and stutter like a maiden._

 

_"Usually, unless I'm in the middle of some Tomfool plan of Ezra's," Chris nodded and sat up, pulling his hat off and setting it on the ground beside his serape pillow._

 

_Gibbs grimaced at the mention of Standish, but said nothing about him. Instead, he pursed his lips and gazed into the fire. "You a Bible man?"_

 

_"Not particularly. That's J'siah. And even he's got a unique look on things. I know a fair bit, though. What's on your mind?"_

 

_Chris could see the other man's shoulders slump slightly in relief. "Fightin' temptation. Or invitin' it in."_

 

_Chris lifted a brow in question. The other man was still looking away from him, so he spoke his curiosity. "Oh?"_

 

_"Not a lot can get a man hung these days. Most get shot or run outta town." Chris grunted agreement, and Gibbs continued on. "And some things, folks'd just as soon scalp ya.."_

 

_Chris scooted up a bit so he could peer at the man's face. "Soundin' like Tanner now," he teased._

 

_Gibbs snorted and glanced over to the other man, blue eyes dark and hooded, something dangerous roiling in them. Chris recognized the wild hunger. He'd seen it often enough in men he served with. That kind of hunger would drive a man to do things that could get him or others killed. Chris wondered what he had on his mind, them realized he knew._

 

_Chris spoke up before Gibbs could again. "Mentioning Tanner mighta been closer than I intended, huh?"_

 

_Gibbs' eyes flashed, that danger surging. "S'that supposed to mean?"_

 

_"Tanner's spent enough time with the Indians that he don't see things the way most proper whites do. . . ." Chris let his words trail off, hoping he'd said enough to make his meaning clear._

 

_"And how's that grab you?" Gibbs asked. Chris saw the wariness in his eyes._

 

“ _What? Tanner's experiences?” He couldn't help but twist the man's tail a little. If he was right, it could pay off handsomely._

 

“ _Dammit,” Gibbs cursed, eyes narrowing in frustration. He turned until his body fully faced Chris, and Chris grinned. Gibbs realized that Chris had been teasing, and closed his eyes. “Could drive a man to drink, Larabee.”_

 

_Chris snorted,scooting back and laying down on his serape. “Could. Not my intentions, though. Rather drive you to somethin' else.” He slid his arm under his head, spreading his legs in blatant invitation._

 

“ _Yeah?” The Marshal proved how well he uncovered the truth in how he gazed at Chris for a long moment, then, without another word, he strode over, knelt between his legs, and …_

 

The jarring sound of the stewardess call woke him at that moment.  _ Fuck, _ he thought.  _ Just when it was getting damn good. _ He smiled to himself, pulling out a small notebook from his pocket and writing a few things down. That dream was one he wouldn't mind remembering for a while. 

 

The pilot called out their descent into Denver, and Chris straightened up, trying to wake himself up enough to get off the plane without incident.


	5. Chapter 5

Gibbs strode back into the bullpen, coffee in hand.

 

McGee spoke up as he entered. “Boss, I found that address for you. That was the same guy as before. Is it for a case?”

 

“Nope.” The rest of the team looked up at him, and he scowled in their direction. “Guy I met at the conference. Knew him from Afghanistan.” He pocketed the paper, and sat down again. “Where are we?” 

 

“Taylors are home and are coming in. Junior's with them. So, we can talk to them about the card, and find out exactly what's going on, or as much as we can get without reading minds or torture.” Tony flicked his hand across his screen, and the information flew up on to the plasma. “The nanny is pretty vanilla, boss. About the only thing I saw that threw up any red flags was that about eight years ago, her mother remarried a real piece of work. He's got priors. A lot of them. But she doesn't see him very much, if ever. I can sort of sympathize with that.” All of them nodded at that comment. 

 

“Her financials check out.” McGee flicked his mouse, and the records showed up on the screen. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Gibbs nodded, and then looked over at Ellie. 

 

“I couldn't figure out if that's exactly what was on the card, Gibbs. There's no way of knowing without connecting it to something in the cloud, and since it's a kid's tablet, the Taylors didn't do that. It makes sense, I mean, you don't want all your kid's information out there for the world to see. Most services won't let a kid get an account of their own until they're like 13.”

 

That was true, and it was probably a good thing. Gibbs grunted, and opened up his email, scanning to see if there was anything that required his attention at the moment.

 

Bishop wasn't done, though. She chewed on her lip, then spoke up. “Uh, Gibbs. . . ” When she had his attention, she continued. “I _did_ find out enough information on her stepfather. Earl  McCallen has several priors, including gun-related felonies, and purchasing and selling arms without a license. _And. . ._ ” she paused, learning the art of the big reveal from the rest of the team, “he was in DC this weekend. He just left, but guess where he's from?” 

 

“The mountains?” Gibbs chanced.

 

“Well, one of them.” Gibbs gazed at her until she looked away, and then she grinned and finished. “Westminster, Colorado. It's a suburb of Denver.” 

 

_ Of course, _ Gibbs thought, hand reaching to finger the paper in his pocket.  _ Of course. Denver. _ He snorted, and shut his email program. “Good work, Bishop. Now, let's get set up to interview the Taylors.” 

 

“Sounds good, Boss.” Tony responded, then hurried off to do so. 

 

* * *

"Big Dog!" Buck crowed, and Chris chuckled as he ambled toward his oldest friend. "Gimme that," the big man chided, taking Chris' bag from his shoulder. "C'mon. Vin's got the Ram. You can drive us all back."

 

"Buck.." Chris paused. "You'll never guess who I ran into in DC."

 

"Can this wait until we get to the pickup?" Buck frowned.

 

"Nope. For two reasons." Chris gestured to a set of chairs. "You remember . . . ." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, unconsciously mimicking a move he'd seen Gibbs do when the older man was tired.

 

"Spit it out, old son." Buck looked worried, but he sat down, giving Chris his full attention. Chris sat next to him.

 

_ Yeah,  _ Chris thought.  _ That was probably easiest. _ "I ran into Lone Wolf this weekend."

 

"Aw, hell, Chris." Buck leaned back in his seat, poleaxed. "At the meeting?"

 

"Yeah. Followed him around like a lost puppy." He snorted

 

"Well, you did have dreams about that voice. If I swung even a little bit, I'd have been thinking about it too. Man had a helluva voice, Chris."

 

"You remember those old west dreams?" Chris asked, hands rubbing on his thighs, a sure sign of nerves.

 

"Yeah. . . " Buck had thought he was crazy or spinning a yarn, but he humored him.

 

"Had another one on the way home. Let's just say a deserted campfire's good for more than just sparkin' a lady." He sighed. That didn't come out anywhere near how he wanted it to.

 

Buck snickered. "Now, I'd almost believe you'd been livin' a century ago, pard. That sounded like somethin' they'd say."

 

"Now you believe me," Chris muttered.

 

Buck gave him an odd look, but kept silent.

 

"He's lost a wife and daughter. Kelly was nine." Chris watched Buck's face fall at that. "Their driver was shot. NCIS protective custody. She'd seen way too much. He was still Over There."

 

"Well, fuck, son, you  _ don't _ pick the easy way, do ya?" Buck kept his voice light, but his eyes shone with worry. 

 

Chris knew everything would be all right, no matter how it tuned out with Gibbs. He smirked. "Now where would be the fun in that, Buck?" He drawled, standing to head toward the door. C'mon. Didn't you say Tanner was waiting for us?"

 

Buck rolled his eyes, but followed him, tipping his hat to a lady as they passed.

 

* * *

 

Gibbs sat back down in his seat, running his hand down his face. _Well, at least I have a semi-professional reason for writing._ He snorted and opened up his email program.

 

_Black,_

 

_Guess I broke first. Though I had to get my kid to give me your address. Forgot to get one from you. Got two reasons for writing._

 

_First one's actually professional. You ever encounter a piece of work called Earl McCallen? Dammed if he isn't involved in one of my cases –_ Gibbs continued, summarizing what they'd learned from the Taylor family and Mrs. Ortega. _If he's on your radar, maybe we can do that cooperation thing. Seemed to work out pretty damn well the last time we tried it._

 

He paused. He could reword the first part and sign off here, but he'd never been a coward. However, he didn't want to run Larabee off, either. There was a fine line. He'd heard somewhere about secret codes men would say to each other to make their meaning plain without as much danger. Problem was, he didn't know any of those codes, and wasn't sure Larabee did either. He scratched his head. He'd softball it for now. If they went to Denver, they could figure more out.

 

_I have to say I enjoyed seeing you again. Kid took the time to look you up, and it seems we've got a lot more in common than we thought. If you ever need an ear, I'm not the most verbal, but, hell. I've been there. I won't give you all the lines, but I won't coddle your ass either._

 

_There aren't many of us left that aren't in a world of hurt or causing it, and finding a good friend who's home is a rare thing._

 

_Fair Winds,_

_Lone Wolf_

 

Gibbs glanced over the email, and feeling as uncomfortable as he had sitting on a bench in Stillwater in '76, he sent it.

 

He took a long gulp of coffee, and looked up. "So, the Taylors are goin' to Denver, and McCallen is in Denver. Seems like that's the place to be to solve this case."

 

"Is that where we're headed, Boss?" Tony asked for all of them.

 

Gibbs thought about it, and nodded. "Met a guy this weekend. Guess where he was from?”

 

“Waxahachee?” Tony grinned, and the smile didn't abate when Gibbs reached up and slapped him on the back of the head. “Denver, huh?”

 

“Yeah.” Gibbs nodded. He always knew his people were smart. “Lemme go talk to Vance, see what he says, but I'll bet ya we're going to Denver.”

 

Tony broke out into a chorus of “Rocky Mountain High,” and Gibbs rolled his eyes. He let it slide because he was already halfway to the stairwell. He snorted, letting the full grin cross his face, and went to go brave the bear in his den.


	6. Chapter 6

Chris' phone pinged, and he looked down. _Email from ljgibbs@ncis.navy.mil.us._ _Huh._ He stepped away from the six men crowding his living room, and opened the email. He scanned it, and then called Buck over. “Pard, does this look like he's … fishin' to you?” 

 

“Bait and line, Old Dog. How you gonna respond?” Buck grinned, handing the phone back. 

 

“Figured I'd take a couple minutes and ponder on it some.” Chris looked up as the rest of the men looked over at him. 

 

He pursed his lips. He wasn't sure how much of this he wanted to share with the Seven yet. This was awfully personal, and he was a private man.

 

Buck solved it for him, though. “Chris got an email from an old friend of ours he ran into this weekend. He's ponderin' on how to reply to him.”

 

Vin's eyes met his, and Chris knew he'd have to explain more later.

 

“That guy you had me. . . ” JD asked, leaning forward, disentangling himself a little from Casey. 

 

“Yes, JD, the guy I had you check out for me.” He snorted. There really were no secrets among them. In some ways, that was annoying. In others, it was comforting. 

 

“Cool. He seemed like a really awesome guy.” JD shrugged, and returned to his conversation with Casey. 

 

Chris rolled his eyes, and Buck slapped him on the back. He slid his phone back into his pocket, and reached into the fridge for another beer. “Anybody else need another?” Two voices called out, so he grabbed two more, and carried them in to the room, setting them down in front of their recipients. He'd told the boys he needed to ponder a little on his response to Wolf, and he did.

 

Several hours later, after the boys had all gone home and he'd dozed off in his easy chair for a while, book on his lap, he woke up, mind still turning over the problem of Lone Wolf. He grabbed his phone, flicked it on, and pursed his lips.

 

_Wolf,_

 

_My email is publicly available on the roster. Damn what being Team Lead brings us to, huh?_

 

_I have heard of that jackass. I would love to get his hands on him. He's a silent supplier to about four of our biggest shitstorms. I don't know how he gets his information, but I'd love to shoot him down (or just shoot him)_ , he added the parenthetical with a grin on his face, sure Wolf would appreciate it, and continued typing.  _… any help you can give us in that regard would be worth a favor or two._

 

_Your second point. Forgive me if I'm way off base, but that sounded a little closer to home than two old widowers commiserating over coffee and whiskey. Without completely overstepping the bounds of a new friendship, I'd be perfectly amenable to talking about it. If I'm way off base, a friendly ear would be worth a few moments as well. If my assumptions have turned you completely off spending time in person with me, then email is cheap, easy, and fewer chances for me to do something stupid._

 

_Either way, I'm gonna sign off before I sound like a newly-minted SEAL trying to impress a cute little blonde with a hell of a smile._ He paused, remembering Sarah's bright smile, and knew Gibbs would appreciate that comparison as well. 

 

_Semper Fi,_

_Cpt. Black_

 

* * *

 

The team sat in a restaurant, discussing the trip. During a lull in the conversation, Gibbs turned to McGee. “How do I check my email on this thing, McGee?” He held out the phone to his tech, and waited for the explanation.

 

“You click here, and then, it's mostly like the program on your computer, except smaller. You may need your reading glasses, Boss.” McGee slid the little menus around, showing him where everything was. “I set it up for you before, just in case we needed it for a case.” 

 

“Thanks, McGee.” Gibbs grabbed the reading glasses out of his pocket and scanned the list. There it was. He grinned as he read through the email, and sighed. “Need to email him back. I can't type for shit on these things.” 

 

“Well, we're going to be there in the next day or so, so you could wait until then to talk to him. . . ” McGee continued after Gibbs glared at him. “Or, we could find a number for his work. Or home. It won't be that difficult. I mean, especially for another law enforcement agency. They make that kind of thing pretty easy to find.” 

 

“Yeah. Gimme a number.” Gibbs took his glasses off, and slid them back into his pocket. 

 

“Will do, Boss. Won't take me a minute. Do you want me to send it to your. . . ” 

 

“You're right here, McGee. You can program it into the damn phone.” Gibbs glared, frustrated at the tech. 

 

“Oh, right. I'll do that for you.” McGee rolled his eyes, probably at himself, and turned on his own doohickey to look for the number. After a few minutes, he held out his hand for the phone. 

 

“Put it under his name, but if it's got a nickname thingy, call him 'Captain Black'.” 

 

“Captain Black. Got it.” Tim typed a few more things in, and pressed a small button up in the corner. “Done. Put his emails and his phone numbers all there, so you'll be able to get a hold of him easily wherever he is.” 

 

“Good.” Gibbs nodded, and looked down at his empty plate. “Somebody get the check. I'll go make the call. I'll pay for it, just need the damn bill.” 

 

“I'll do that, Boss. The waitress and I have a camaraderie. I wonder if she'll give me her number.” Tony grinned and stood.

 

Gibbs stood, walking over to him and slapping him on the head. “Ask  _after_ you get the ticket, DiNozzo. You make her mad, you're paying.” 

 

“Gotcha, Boss. Ticket first, flirting second.” Tony gave him a good facsimile of a salute, and headed toward the waitress' station. 

 

Gibbs stepped out into the air, thumbing on his phone and looking at the contact information. He saw the time, and calculated the difference between time zones. It wasn't too late in Colorado. He pressed the call button and held the phone up to his ear.

 

“Larabee.” Chris sounded a little tired.

 

“Hey.” Gibbs wasn't sure what to say at first. 

 

“My email _that_ off base, pard?” Gibbs smiled and shook his head. 

 

“Nope. Got two reasons for calling. That was one of 'em. You were right. Not sure how to do this, bein' so far away, but figure we can talk and take trips. Which leads me to my second point.” 

 

“Go on.” Chris sounded interested.

 

“Well, Jackass de Jour took a tablet from a little boy that his daughter was babysitting. Tablet had the wrong card in it. You know those damn little tiny things?”

 

“Yeah, I got a couple myself,” Chris replied, and Gibbs listened to his voice. The man had to have been smiling. He was laughing at him. It didn't bother him as much as he thought it would.

 

“Well, he picked up daddy's work card instead of his card of stories and games. At least that's what McGee tells me.” Gibbs looked back into the restaurant and saw that Tony was successful, at least at getting the check.

 

“Oh, damn. You want us to round him up?” Chris sounded almost eager to do so.

 

“Well, the kid's parents are headed out that way, so, between them being there, and McCallen being there, I got a ready-made excuse to see the mountains.” He smirked.

 

“Well, shee-it. There's enough space out here at the ranch, if you don't mind the boys doubling up and you bunking with me.” Gibbs was surprised at the offer. He didn't say anything for a moment, and Chris backpedaled. “Even if we just sleep, it might feel damn good. Never know. If not, I've got a fairly comfy couch.”

 

“You don't hold back, do you, Black?” Gibbs grinned.

 

“See no need to. We've both kinda hinted that somethin's here, and I'm not usually one to dither when I see what I want. Especially if the other person wants it too.”

 

“Kinda funny bein' on the other side.” Gibbs admitted.

 

Chris grunted. “Keep it in mind, Wolf.”

 

“Will do. Might help to be able to save the bean counters a few bucks.” He glanced back in. Abby was waving her arms wide and Bishop looked like she was upset about something. “I'd better go. My team's getting antsy.”

 

“Oh, hell. Get back to 'em. Antsy team's trouble. Like a goat in a clothing store, Vin would say.” Chris chuckled, and Gibbs did too.

 

“Will do. Talk to ya soon.” He gave him the specifics of their flight and signed off.

 

“Bye, Gibbs.” Chris hung up, and Gibbs palmed his phone. He strode back inside to pay the bill, feeling much better about their wild hare to the mountains.

 

* * *

 

Chris looked down at the phone, a lazy sense of contentment washing over him. He hadn't expected this, not at all, but so far, it seemed a good thing. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes again, thinking about blue eyes, silver hair and …

 

_Marshal Gibbs leaned in, settling his hands on either side of Chris' body. Chris immediately pulled his hand out from under his head and grabbed a hold of the closest suspender and pulled him down further, sliding their mouths together in a heated kiss._

 

“ _Damn. You don't waste time.” Gibbs whispered in his ear, breath panting softly against it._

 

“ _Nossir, never saw the need, once I'd decided what to do.” Chris grinned up at the man and slid his hands around Gibbs' neck. “You don't mind, do ya?”_

 

_Gibbs grunted, lifting a hand to start untucking and unbuttoning their shirts. “More my style than the other.” He snorted. “Never seen the need to waste time.” He lowered his head again, kissing Chris soundly, sliding his tongue into his mouth. Chris easily reciprocated, sighing out a soft groan of pleasure._

 

“ _Goddamn. It's a good thing we're so far out,” Chris breathed._

 

_Gibbs gave another of those grunts, and slid his hand inside Chris' union suit, pressing it against the warm skin._

 

“ _That'll keep a man warm on a cold night, Marshal.”_

 

“ _Aim to. . . ” Gibbs replied, pulling back just enough to pull his suspenders down and let Chris unbutton his shirt. “Ain't been that cold past few days, though.”_

 

_Chris smirked. “Still keep a man mighty warm,” he drawled, watching the amusement in Gibbs' eyes by the light of the fire._

 

“ _Tends to, yeah.” Gibbs sighed. “Goddamn, it's been way too long.”_

 

“ _Saloon girls not enough?” Chris chuckled._

 

“ _Not my style.” He held Chris' gaze. “I gotta connect. Haven't found that since Shan.” They had talked about their lives, and knew that they'd each lost the most precious things. Chris to the fire, and Gibbs to bandits aiming for the marshal driving his and Shannon's wagon._

 

_Now, Chris grunted. He understood that. He'd met women who'd lay with a man, but unless there was that spark, couldn't enjoy it much. It stood to reason there'd be men the same way._

 

_They shed their clothes slowly, only baring enough skin to allow for touches and kisses and the … activities they had planned. It was a lonely night and a lonely fire, but men rode hard through the night, either from evil or to it, and both of the lawmen knew it. “Wish I could take you to my cabin, Gibbs. Wouldn't have to worry about bein' disturbed.”_

 

“ _Let's get Marlon squared away, and I'll take some time off. Boss is always on my tail about workin' too hard.” Gibbs ran his thumb across Chris' cheek, gentle as a farmer touching a new lamb. Chris shuddered at the touch, and the care it implied._

 

“ _If we've gotta ride,” Chris began, but Gibbs' thumb brushed his lips._

 

“ _Got an idea. Little bit cruder, but better for tonight.” He moved his hand down, gently brushing against the skin of Chris' chest._

 

“ _Well, you're leadin' down this trail, Gibbs. I'm followin' close behind.” Chris smirked at his own innuendo, and after rolling his eyes, Gibbs did too._

 

_Gibbs lay down beside him, drew close, and kissed him again. This wasn't the tentative, testing kiss from before. This was the kiss of a man with intent to fornicate. Chris pressed into the kiss, enjoying the touch of another person. He had found his thoughts drawing back to the Marshall, and they weren't always good Christian thoughts. He slid his own hands under the other man's open shirt, deftly avoiding his suspenders. When they separated to catch their breaths, Chris growled softly._

 

“ _So, Cowboy, what's your idea?” Instead of explaining, Gibbs pressed him back down and lay atop him._

 

“ _Figured on ruttin' like a bull against a tree.” Chris was confused until he felt the other man's pole slide against his own. Then, his hips arched up, and he hissed out a voiceless groan of pleasure._

 

“ _Feels damn fine to me.” He quickly got the plan and followed it, thrusting up against Jethro's body. “Saints and angels, Jethro.”_

 

_Jethro moved more quickly, and he matched speed. They tried to keep their voices quiet, but the slipping and sliding sounds were unmistakable. It didn't take long for them to find the right rhythm, and when they did, Chris reached up, sealed their lips together possessively, and spilled his seed against the other man. Jethro slid a couple more times, and spilled his own seed._

 

“ _We'll need to clean this up, but I'd say it was damn worth it.” His voice was soft, and he drawled into the marshal's ear._

 

_Gibbs' only response was a grunt. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped up the seed between them, and then pocketed it again with a wry smile. “Have to wash that in the river when we get there.”_

 

“ _We can do that,” Chris agreed. “That way, it can be used again.” He knew he was teasing the man, but the answering twinkle in the blue eyes told him that the tease was accepted. He leaned in, brushed their lips together, and then between them, they worked to put everything back together. If they laid their bedrolls closer together than two men normally might, well, the night was getting mighty cool._

 

Chris stirred in his chair, cock rubbing uncomfortably against his jeans, and slowly woke up from one of the best dreams he'd ever had. He was lucky that the team had left before he'd dozed off, because he'd have gotten a hell of a ribbing from a couple of them. He shook his head, and went to shut everything down for bed.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Tony sighed. Gibbs was antsy as a lion with a thorn in his paw. He hated to try to be Androcles, but someone should. He reclined the plane seat, and turned to look at his boss. “You alright, Gibbs?” His voice was low, and he tried to convey that he was a little worried. Which, to be honest, he was.

 

Gibbs grunted, giving him a side-eyed look for the question.

 

“Well, see, I have this friend. Doesn't say much, right?” Tony attempted to use deflection and his 'yabba' to get his point across. “But he's as antsy as an old bear. I mean, he's normally bear-like, but recently, he's more like a bear with a bee in his ear or something. I mean, I don't know if that's accurate, but see, all I know about bears I learned from A. A. Milne.” 

 

That got a sharp look, but then Gibbs looked pensive, as though he were trying to decide what to say, or how much. “Met a friend at the seminar thing.”

 

“Right,” Tony drew the word out. He already knew that much. “And something about this meeting unsettles you? Even though you trust this guy enough to sleep at his ranch sight unseen.” His mind whirled, and he cocked his head, half-heartedly paying attention to the safety briefing. Across the aisle, Bishop was scribbling away in some notebook, and McGee was watching the briefing intently, either to make sure they did it correctly, or so he could say he listened. Or, maybe he was cataloging changes. Who knew what went on in that huge brain. Speaking of going on inside brains, he turned his attention back to his boss. 

 

Gibbs grunt wasn't more than simple assent, but it made Tony nod.

 

“Okay. Well, if your gut is churning, let me know if … “ He watched the boss' face, surprised to see a little embarrassment cross it. 

 

“Not my gut. Gut's fine.” He looked stoically ahead, waiting for the woman to finish the briefing. 

 

“Okay. If it turns out not to be 'fine'. . . ” 

 

“You'll be the first to know, DiNozzo,” Gibbs' voice sounded slightly annoyed, and Tony backed off. He didn't want to pressure him  _ too _ much, especially if this wasn't a work thing. 

 

He closed his eyes, listened to the last bit of her spiel and let his mind try to put things together.

 

* * *

 

_ The curse of having an observant second.  _ Gibbs snorted at his uncharitable thoughts. He closed his eyes, felt the plane take off, and settled in for a nap. It was worth the discomfort of the seats to try to get a little more rest in. He'd definitely slept in worse places. As he did, he fell into a dream. 

 

_Marshall Gibbs woke up from his sleep, finding his body pressed against that of the other man. The night was cold, but it wasn't so cold that it merited two men rolled together for warmth. Then, the man remembered the night before, and looked up at the barely brightening sky._

 

“ _Time to rise and shine, Cowboy,” Gibbs teased the other man, leaning in for a swift kiss before they had to wake and try to get back on the road._

 

“ _Yeah. We got time to make up some coffee?” Chris looked hopefully at him, brow cocked in that sardonic, amused way that made Gibbs smile._

 

“ _If I don't get my coffee in the mornin', I'm awfully sore for most of the day, so, yeah, we've got time for coffee.” Gibbs pulled his boots on, buttoned up his clothes, and strode to the nearby water to fill up the pot. When he returned, Chris had the fire going and their bedrolls rolled up._

 

“ _Figured it's the least I can do since you're makin' that,” he gestured to the pot Gibbs set carefully on the fire._

 

“ _Good enough,” Gibbs fought the urge to catch his eye and touch him more. He shook his head. “Let's get this yay-hoo taken care of.”_

 

“ _Sir, yes, sir,” Larabee drawled, two fingers touching his black hat in a mock-salute. “Your horse need anything?”_

 

“ _She's fine,” Gibbs gazed over where his mare was grazing._

 

“ _Good to know.” They sat in silence, Chris offering some of his jerky to share while they waited for the water to boil. It didn't take long, and soon, they were drinking warm coffee and waking up completely. Chris started talking first. “So, which way did Marlon go?”_

 

“ _I figure he went toward Eagle Bend.” There was a shadow that crossed Chris' face at the mention of his former home, but it passed quickly. Jethro felt empathy for him. He still couldn't guard a wagon for too long without getting surly, and his bosses knew it._

 

“ _Well, at least I know the area.” Chris drawled._

 

“ _Yeah, that was part of the reason I brought you along.” Jethro smiled, letting himself show Chris how he felt._

 

_Chris' only response was a slow, “Hmmm.” He finished his coffee, and rinsed out the cup, packing it back in his saddlebag. “C'mon. Time's a-wastin'. Let's get on the road.”_

 

_They worked together to make sure the fire was out, and saddled their horses quickly. Within half an hour, they were riding down the trail toward Eagle Bend and their missing prisoner, both men feeling much better for having spent the night together._

 

Gibbs awoke, eyes blinking quickly. He hadn't had a dream like that in a long time, and it had been a lot longer since he'd had one about a man. There was something going on between him and Black, and he wanted to see where it was going. He just hoped the other man would be on the same wavelength.

 

He pulled his book out of the pocket of the plane seat and cracked it open. He wouldn't mind having another dream, but not while his observant SFA was sitting right beside him. He snorted, and buried himself in the words on the page.

 

* * *

 

Earl McCallen turned on the tablet he'd taken from Pauline's boy. He still didn't understand why she wasted all that time working for a Marine when she could be helping him out and getting a massive cut of the money. He'd offered several times, and every time, she turned him down. Well, now, he'd find a way to get her to see that she was wasting her life. He shook his head, waiting for the black and white load screen to flash and pass. Luckily, there wasn't any password but the basic finger-swipe. He snorted derisively at the cartoon picture on the background and resolved to change it as soon as he possibly could. He thumbed through the programs, and noticed that almost all of them were worthless for him. He'd delete all but the ones he needed. He flipped over the tablet, eyeing the ports, and noticed there was an SD card in the slot already.  _ Hmmmm, _ he thought,  _ I wonder what's on this thing? Probably more crap.  _ He considered completely formatting the thing, but something stopped him.  _ Oughtta see what's on there first, before I destroy it. _

 

He opened the file manager and rummaged around in the contents, and pulled up a folder.  _ Well, I'll be dammed. _ He grinned, slow and wild. He'd struck gold.


	8. Chapter 8

“Sir,” one of Leon's intelligence analysts knocked on his door in a quick double-tap pattern, barging in before he could respond. “Sir, we have a major problem.” 

 

“Stiller, give it to me. Slow down, sit down, measured words. That's it. . . ” Leon sighed. They'd hired some of the brightest minds in the country, but some of them were unable to string two sentences together when they got flustered. And new, dangerous intel always got them flustered. 

 

“Okay, right.” Marta Stiller sat down, slowly ran her hands down her pencil skirt for a moment, and then looked up. “Right.” She took a deep breath and then began. “Someone has accessed the card, sir. The one that was in Corporal Taylor's tablet. It's got the dates and times of the shipments, and someone's acting on it. We've changed most of them, but there were three that were set up and couldn't be changed. Of course, now, they're just gone. Just … poof. It looks like one of the guys resisted whatever … our … perp. . . ” 

 

“The MCRT has a lead on who they believe might be our … perp, Agent Stiller, and his name is Earl McCallen. If you want to assume for now, just for this briefing, mind, that Mister McCallen is indeed our suspect, it might make it easier for you to deal with.” 

 

“You're right. And I've heard that name, sir. He's kind of a big kid on the block in the Northwest.” Stiller added that to her assessment, and Leon could see her mind whirling to try to make more of the pieces fit in. He stopped her before she got too crazy. 

 

“Stiller.” It was enough. 

 

“Oh, right, sir. Well, one of the suppliers resisted whatever McCallen had set up for them, and he's dead. And the other two went quietly, because they figured they could be able to give us something. They haven't been able to give us much, but every bit helps.” 

 

“That it does, Stiller, that it does.” He nodded, took the paper from her hand, and smiled. “Thank you. Keep up the good work. You and your team are invaluable in this kind of situation. If you find anything else that is immediately relevant, bring it to me. Otherwise, an email is fine.” 

 

Stiller beamed under the deserved praise, and she rose, recognizing a dismissal when she heard it. “Thank you, Director. We'll be sure to let you know.”

 

When Marta Stiller had closed the door completely, he pulled out his cell phone. “Gibbs? It's Leon. Just had Stiller in my office. He's got the card, and he's usin' it. Time is of the essence. We've got to be able to get back on schedule. We can't have those weapons in this guy's hands. Give me a ring when you get this, and we'll set up a plan of attack. We can bring your buddy and his team in easily, because this is going to be a major shitstorm of epic proportions. I want him taken care of, and soon.” He paused, making sure he'd said everything he needed to say. “Safe flight, Gibbs. Call me when you get in. Bye.” He grumbled to himself about sounding idiotic on messages, and then grabbed his jacket. “Rose, I'm gonna go grab lunch. Have the car sent around. I want to go out today.”

 

“Yes, Director. I'll hold your calls.” His secretary smiled at him.

 

“Yeah. Good idea. All but Gibbs. Gibbs calls, you forward it.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” She nodded, and he strode down the stairs toward the door. 

 

* * *

Chris stood at the baggage claim, fingers tapping nervously on his thigh. He didn't have anything to occupy his mind, so his thoughts kept casting back to the dream he'd had last night. In it, the two men had awakened at dawn, kissed, made coffee, and moved on to try to find their missing prisoner. Chris had shuddered under the intense gaze, and had woken up hard and hungry. It had taken the rich, real memory of his dreams and frantic pulls on his dick to be able to function this morning. He sighed, and Buck looked over at him.

 

“You okay, over there, Pard?” Buck's bushy mustache bounced with the mirth of the moment. 

 

“I'm fine, Bucklin, same as the last time you asked.” Chris rolled his eyes. 

 

“Riight,” Buck chuckled, and moved over to slap him on the shoulder. “It'll turn out. One way or the other, it'll turn out.” 

 

“Been havin' more dreams, Buck.” He looked pointedly at his best friend, willing him to understand the nature of the dreams without explicitly telling him. 

 

“Yeah?” No such luck. Buck wanted the details. 

 

“Let's just say I'm feelin' about fifteen again.” He smirked, and tipped his hat, moving to the window to watch the planes land. 

 

“You can't just say somethin' like that to a man and not fill him in, Chris,” Buck nearly whined. “Tell good ole' Bucklin.” 

 

“Nope.” His smirk widened into a full smile. Sometimes, teasing Buck was fun. 

 

“Damn, you're a crochety old bear.” 

 

Chris snorted at the similar comparison to Gibbs' comments in the dream. “Naw, I'm not the bear. Speaking of which, go pick up a black coffee. Strong as you can get it without payin' for that espresso crap.”

 

Buck looked nonplussed by his words, but he went anyway.

 

As he did, the passengers began to step off the plane. He watched with hungry eyes, trying to spot the faces of the people he'd seen in the file. There was a tall man with a dress jacket on -- could that be the … no, he had a beard. Gibbs' SFA didn't wear a beard. He continued to watch, felt Buck come up alongside him, smelled the coffee in his hands, and chuckled. “C'mon. He'll want that.”

 

He pushed himself off the wall and started cataloging the different passengers, smirking or frowning at what he could tell about them. Then, he heard a quiet chuckle, and looked up. There Jethro was in front of him. He felt like a teenager again, and resisted the urge to wipe his hands on his jeans. “Hey, Wolf, how was the flight?” They embraced like old friends, which they were, kind of, and Jethro tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders. “We got you a coffee. Bucklin made sure it was strong. This's Buck. Well, you knew him as Gray.”

 

“Gray,” Gibbs greeted him. “My team.” He gestured to each one. “DiNozzo, McGee, and Bishop. Had to leave Abs and Ducky there.” He smiled, and Chris shook his head, trying to keep from doing something stupid. 

 

“Yeah. Well, I figured you'd meet our team at the ranch. Give you a little bit of time to get used to the mountain air.” Together, they retrieved all the luggage, making small talk and getting to know one another. Buck and Tony seemed to hit it off right away. Chris and Gibbs shared a look, neither sure whether that was a good thing. Because they wouldn't all fit in Chris' Ram, they'd borrowed a van from the office. Both agencies concurred that saving a little money and having the two teams work together was a very good idea. They piled in, Gibbs taking the front seat next to him, and the others taking the back seats. 

 

“Buckle in, kids, it's gonna be a long ride.” Chris grinned over at Gibbs, and pulled out of the driveway. 

 

“Drives better than you, Boss,” Tony sniped from the backseat. 

 

“McGee,” Gibbs intoned, watching them from the mirror. McGee, understanding what his boss was asking for, slapped DiNozzo on the back of the head. 

 

“Yes, boss, thank you boss.” Tony grinned 

 

_ My team would get into a slap-fight right about now, _ Chris thought, navigating on to the highway. He snorted and flashed a quicksilver grin at Gibbs. Gibbs returned it, and they fell silent for the rest of the trip. Buck and Tony were talking about sports, women, and of all things, music. McGee and Bishop were adding a few comments here and there, but the seconds-in-command seemed to be carrying the conversation. 

 

He fought the urge to whistle.


	9. Chapter 9

Larabee drove them out to his house, and Gibbs looked around as he got out, taking the measure of the man he'd decided to risk things with. He noticed small things that seemed achingly familiar, like scratches in the fence post that could have only been put there by tiny hands. The reminder was almost as bittersweet to him as the memories he had of Kelly. He wondered if they'd ever talk about their lost babies, or if that would just be a silent understanding between them. He looked over, seeing the big black horse and the smaller paint beside him.

 

“Yours?” He turned to face his host with an eyebrow raised. 

 

“Pony's mine.” He gestured to the black mare. Then, to the paint. “Peso belongs to Vin. Tanner lives in a bario, and the horse wouldn't do too well there. He's already a handful, aren't you boy?” Gibbs must have looked blankly at him, because he waved a hand and explained. “Bario is a poor, mostly Spanish-speaking neighborhood.” 

 

Gibbs nodded, understanding dawning.

 

“Wanna help me feed 'em?” Gibbs noticed the slight nervousness in the man's voice. 

 

“Yeah.” When they entered the barn, away from the others' sight, Jethro grabbed Chris' arm. “Hey. Settle down. Let's get tonight taken care of, then we can talk when the team bunks down.” 

 

“Yeah, alright.” Chris showed him what to do, and between the two of them, they had the horses fed in no time. They wandered back to the house, each silent and slightly nervous, but neither willing to admit it. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey, uh,” Tony gazed at Buck, and Buck had a good idea what was coming. “You know why our bosses are looking at each other like that? I mean, if one of them was female, and / or a redhead, I'd have a thought, but I  _ think . . .  _ ” 

 

“Well, now, you're just almost as perceptive as you think you are, son.” Buck snorted. “Chris loves the women, yeah, but sometimes, he gets that wild ache for somethin' women can't do. Somethin' dark and primal.” 

 

Tony's expression turned pensive, and Buck clapped him on the shoulder. “You go on thinkin' about it, though you may wanna wait until after we eat. Here they come, and they still look skittish as mares after a fireworks show.”

 

“You guys have such a colorful way of saying things, Buck.” Tony grinned. “But you're right. I'll think about this later when the Boss isn't looking and can't headslap me.” 

 

Sure enough, Gibbs and Chris stepped into hearing range when Tony said that.

 

“Can't headslap you for what, DiNozzo? You need one?” Gibbs turned to Buck. “He behavin', Gray?” 

 

“Yeah, Wolf, he's fine. Just talkin' about the women we've met. Seems we've got a bit in common.” Buck saw that Gibbs didn't buy it any more than Chris would've, but he must've trusted his second, or even Buck himself – most likely both – not to push the issue. Or, it was a moot enough point that he didn't care. 

 

“Good.” That made Tony's head turn sharply toward Gibbs. “We're workin' together. We need to have some common ground.” 

 

“True, Boss.” They all felt the reason was as thin as paper, but again, it rode. 

 

Buck rolled a shoulder, and found a chair. “So, we grillin' tonight, Big Dog?”

 

“Thought we might, if it's alright with our guests?” He looked around at each one, checking their faces for disagreement. 

 

“Fine with me,” Gibbs did the same. “Bishop, you good with meat?” 

 

“I wouldn't have come along if I wasn't, Gibbs. Ten men and asking for vegetarian? That's not a good tactical move.” 

 

“Not all of us eat like scavenging wolves, ma'am,” Vin teased. 

 

“Well, no, but in a group this large, it's statistically much more likely that most of you  _ will  _ have fairly carnivorous tastes. It's cultural, and, I think somewhat genetic. We've eaten meat for generations, and it's become a part of our lives, especially for men who work hard, and even more so in the central and western parts of the country. That's not to say that vegetarianism is a wrong choice. . . ” 

 

“Bishop, it's fine,” Gibbs cut her off, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smirk. 

 

“The woman does have a point, Mister Tanner,” Ezra commented from the corner where he sat in the recliner, sipping on a smooth whiskey. “Could I interest any of you in sharing my libations?” 

 

“Could use a drink, yeah,” Gibbs walked over to the couch and sat down, taking a glass from Ezra. 

 

“There you are, Mister Gibbs. I will tell you that this is some of the finest whiskey I have tasted in a while.” Gibbs tasted it, slowly, savoring the flavor, and Buck was amused to watch Chris' reaction to him. Gibbs nodded his approval, and Ezra's bright grin appeared. 

 

“Hey, now,” Buck teased. “You don't bring out the good stuff for us?” 

 

“Our guests are used to fine southern hospitality, and I aim to keep it that way, Mister Wilmington.” 

 

JD laughed. “They're from DC, Ez. Not much hospitable there.” Gibbs' youngest snorted, and pointed something out on JD's screen. JD responded by typing something in his computer, and the two were deep in their technical conversation again.

 

“DC's alright.” Tony shrugged. “Of course, before now, the furthest west I ever got was Columbus, Ohio for school.” 

 

“OSU?” Vin piped up, and Buck wondered where this was gonna go.

 

“Yeah, why?” 

 

“I used to watch college sports when I was on downtime. They've got a pretty good basketball team.” 

 

“Why thank you.” DiNozzo just beamed. He must've played. “I played until my senior year when Brad Pitt – not the actor, but the Wolverine – broke my knee.” 

 

“Dayum. You must'a been good.” Vin sounded impressed. 

 

“I was alright.” Tony moved to sit down near Vin, and they started talking sports. Buck grinned behind his mustache and returned to watching their bosses dance around each other like a couple of scared rabbits. 

 

* * *

 

His team had left, and Gibbs' team had bedded down for the night. The two team leaders sat on the couch, talking softly. “You mind 'em knowin'? Pretty sure our 2ICs do already.”

 

Gibbs shrugged. “Not in the Corps anymore.” He looked away. “They don't know I . . . ”

 

“Gonna be a problem?” Chris turned so that he could see Gibbs' face easily. 

 

“No, I don't give a damn, honestly.” He looked down at the glass still in his hand. He'd only had a couple of drinks, nursing them the entire night. “If it's worth doin', it's worth doin' completely.” 

 

“So, I haven't told you this, but I've been dreamin' about you since we met up again. Well, even before that. I was dreamin' I lived in this small town in Colorado called “Four Corners.” Couldn't have been where our Four Corners is, because it's not as close to Mexico as this one claimed to be. Either that, or whoever was writin' my dream doesn't give a hot damn about maps.” 

 

“Lotta people don't.” Gibbs looked a little nervous, but he inhaled and nodded. “I've been dreamin' too. About a century ago, and findin' you by a campfire.” 

 

“You'd invited me along to catch. . . ” Chris' eyes were wide with surprise. 

 

They said the criminal's name together. “Marlon.”

 

“That's . . .” Chris caught Gibbs' eye, and didn't know what to say.

 

“Abs'd say it was hinky.” 

 

“Fair enough. Good a word as any.” Chris set his hand on Gibbs' arm. “Uh, you wanna . . .” He nodded toward the hallway. 

 

Gibbs didn't verbally answer, but he drained his glass, set it down with a quiet thunk, and gestured for Chris to lead the way.

 

Chris walked down the hallway, quiet, measured steps getting him there. He was still slightly nervous. Gibbs was right behind him. It didn't take long for the two men to reach the bedroom and close the door.

 

“So, you got a plan of attack for this, or you wanna talk about it?” 

 

“It's been a hell of a long time since I've had a man in my bed. Never thought about keepin' one there.” 

 

Gibbs grunted his agreement. He sat down on the bed and pulled his boots off, glancing surreptitiously toward Chris as he did, as though he were expecting to be chastised for setting his boots by the bed. That had been his side when he was here with Sarah, but he didn't give a damn tonight. They'd only have a short while unless one of them did something drastic, and they weren't even sure this was going somewhere, anyway. He tried to smile, to encourage him that it was going to be okay. He wasn't sure he'd succeeded.

 

“If you kiss anything like you did in the dream, Black, I'd say we're good.” Gibbs' voice had dropped in volume and timbre, and Chris shuddered.  _ That  _ was the voice he'd heard over the line while out in enemy territory. Gibbs slid over to the other side of the bed, making room for him. 

 

“Well,” he drawled back, “there's really only one way to find out.” Then, he sat down on the bed, pulled off his own boots, and leaned in to slide their lips together. The moment their lips touched, he huffed out a quiet groan. The dream had been entirely accurate. The man could kiss. And it felt good. 

 

“Gotta keep quiet. They'd never let us live it down,” Chris was surprised to see a slight pink tinge in the older man's cheeks. 

 

“Your boy'd tell Bucklin, and it'd be all over the team by breakfast's end.” 

 

Gibbs grunted again. “Wanna just do what they did in the dream?”

 

“Rub off?” Chris nodded, resting his forehead against Jethro's. “I'd like that.” 

 

They slowly undressed themselves, for the most part, hands reaching over to help with buttons or slide under cloth as they moved with a synchronicity that most first-time couples wouldn't see. Chris wondered if it was because of the dreams, or because of something else. He wasn't sure what that would be, but he wasn't willing to rule out something . . . more hinky than the dreams had been.

 

“Thinkin' too hard, Chris,” Jethro said, and Chris shivered at the way he said his name. 

 

“Yeah. Enjoying this, though.” That much was becoming visibly obvious. 

 

Gibbs chuckled quietly, and leaned in again. “Me too, if you hadn't noticed.” Chris had. Their lips pressed together again, and Chris sighed in relief. It'd been entirely too long since he'd had a good bed partner. He'd had a few since Sarah's death, just for stress relief or short-term flings, but this had the makings of something good. He slid his hands around the other man, pulling him closer. Gibbs groaned when their bodies touched and he pushed Chris back on the bed, covering him with his own body.

 

Chris tried to keep their mouths together as they moved, and tried to keep them quiet. He spread his legs just enough to allow Gibbs to settle in place, and thrust against him. He shuddered as the hot pleasure began to course through his veins. He slid his hands around Jethro's body, and the two of them began working their hips in a sympathetic rhythm that didn't take long at all to have them both coming, panting, bodies arching, and moaning quietly into the other's mouth.

 

As they came down from their highs, Chris smiled up at Jethro, holding him in place for a few more moments. “Not gonna go anywhere.” Gibbs' gravelly voice whispered in his ear, chuckling at their mutual refusal to let go. “Damn, that was good.”

 

Chris snorted softly. “Yeah. Damn good.” He released Gibbs, letting him roll off and lay out on the bed. “Let me go get a cloth to clean us up, and we'll sleep.” Gibbs' only response was a grunt.

 

Chris cleaned them up, watching Gibbs' sleepy, sated expression as he wiped him down with deft strokes. “Sleep well, Wolf.”

 

Another soft grunt was his only response, and then Gibbs was snoring. Finishing up his routine with a smile, Chris quickly crawled under the covers, curled around Jethro, and followed suit.


	10. Chapter 10

Eleanor Bishop thumbed open her phone and called her husband. “Hey, Jake. How's it going?”

 

He sounded sleepy, which meant she'd caught him still in bed. That was a good thing. She looked down at her watch, did the quick calculation and groaned. He chuckled softly, and answered her, voice sleep-rough. “Hey, Ellie. It's a little later than I expected you to call, but then again, you're in the mountains now.” Ellie had told him about the little boy saying his grandfather lived 'in the mountains.' It'd become a teasing point in their conversation.

 

“Yeah, I am, and you know what? It's gorgeous out here, Jake.” She put her phone on speaker, and started her morning facial routine. 

 

“I know. I've seen pictures. And anywhere I've seen pictures and then seen the real thing, the real thing always looks a little better.” 

 

“I think here, it's because the mountain air is so crisp it sharpens everything. Like putting that filter on the picture.” She finished up washing her face and began putting on her makeup, carrying on a conversation with her husband as if they stood at the same sink getting ready. 

 

“That makes sense. Oh. Your mother called. She wants you to call her back.” 

 

“Probably something about bringing her a souvenir.” Ellie grinned, applying her eye shadow. “I'm surrounded by ten men, Jake. Not another woman in sight.” 

 

“Well, you're usually in the middle of guys, Ells, what's different this time?” 

 

“Usually, I've got Abby or the other girls at the Yard to talk to. It's gonna be interesting.” 

 

“It always is.” Jake chuckled. “Well, I probably should get up and get dressed. I don't have a client until a little later, so I figured I'd have a good breakfast.” 

 

“Enjoy, hon.” Ellie put her hair up in a ponytail. 

 

“I will. You too. Any of those boys get too frisky, tell them your husband's a lawyer and they're fair game.” It was a standing joke between them. 

 

'I will, Jake,” she laughed. “Love you.”

 

“Love you too. Bye.” They hung up, and Ellie looked at herself in the mirror for one last time and headed out to breakfast. She sat down in her chair, and the Boss looked up at her with a quirked eyebrow. 

 

“He's awake. He doesn't have a client until a little later. He wanted me to be sure you all knew that he was a lawyer.” 

 

A flash of what Ellie was sure was contented amusement crossed Gibbs' face, and she blinked, looking over to Tony to see what his response was to the Boss' expression. When he wasn't gazing confusedly at it, she knew he was privy to something she wasn't. She thought for a moment, and tilted her head, lips pursed. It was something to consider later. If it would have affected the case, one of them would have said something.

 

“Pancakes and bacon. That work for you? Or I've got some granola-like cereal in the cupboard. Wasn't sure what you all would eat.” Agent Larabee was looking at her, waiting for her response, empty plate in hand. 

 

“Pancakes and bacon sounds really good, thanks, Agent Larabee.” 

 

“You're eatin' my bacon. You can call me Chris.” He flashed her a smile, but then his eyes flicked over to Gibbs. She looked between the two men for a moment, then she got it. Both men looked extremely contented, and they had been so nervous last night. She should have put two and two together before this, but she was distracted by the new place. 

 

Gibbs grunted and returned to eating his pancakes. Tony looked over at her, and then raised an eyebrow in Gibbs' direction. Probably, he'd said something to Gibbs before she'd gotten there.

 

“It's a good thing you don't care, Wolf.” Chris set a plate of food down in front of her. 

 

Gibbs just grunted again, that smirk returning to his face.

 

“He hasn't had enough coffee yet, Chris. He's pre-verbal until his blood runs with caffeine.” Tony set his own glass of coffee down, and as he did, Gibbs' hand came up and slapped him on the back of the head. “I'm not apologizing for that one, Boss. It's true. I know you get at least three cups from Elaine before you get to work in the morning. You're on cup one. So, it's gonna take a few minutes before you get past the grunts and smirks.” 

 

Gibbs shrugged his shoulders, accepting that Tony's assessment was correct.

 

Chris just chuckled at the whole thing. He sat down with his own food, pulling another chair around to the other side of Gibbs from Tony. Ellie thought she saw him slide his hand down to rest on Gibbs' thigh, but she wasn't sure. If so, then this was more than just a way to pass the time. It made her think about Jake again. She hated being away from him.

 

“Where's McGee, Tony?” She looked around. 

 

“He's already eaten. Delilah was gonna call.” She grinned at that. Tony still was in the doghouse with them for picking up the phone. 

 

“I can understand leaving the room.” She looked pointedly at Tony. “Especially when she might just be heading to bed.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah. I apologized. I bought her flowers.” Tony winced. 

 

“Good,” Gibbs grunted. “You won't do it again.” He gazed at Tony until he answered. 

 

“No, Boss,” Tony fairly whined. “I won't do it again.” 

 

“Of course, neither will she,” Ellie felt the need to point out. 

 

Chris looked confused, so Gibbs enlightened him. “DiNozzo here answered McGee's phone. Girlfriend was on the other line . . . “ He turned to face the other man, waggled his eyebrows, and grinned, a full-on, boyish, bright grin. “He'd left somethin' on at home.”

 

“Oh, Boss,” Tony was completely whining now. “That's bad!” 

 

Chris laughed. “And I'll bet he got to see more than he ever really wanted of Tim's woman.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Gibbs drew out the word, and Ellie could see how the two of them were good together. She looked between them, and decided. 

 

“Congratulations, by the way. I approve.” 

 

Gibbs looked at her, scrutinized her expression for a moment, then nodded. “Thanks.” With that, he returned to drinking coffee, sliding his hand into Chris'.

 

* * *

 

The NCIS team joined them at the ATF building, gathering in the conference room. “Mornin', Big Dog,” Buck greeted Chris as they all trailed in after him. “What's shakin'?” Vin chuckled at the big man.

 

“What's shakin' is that we need to find McCallen soon, or he's gonna use more of the information on that card. Apparently, there's a second layer of intel, and if he gets it to someone with more skill than he has, it could get interestin'  _ real _ quick.” Vin winced, sitting back in his chair.  _ Brainstorm time. _

 

“Shit, son,” Buck put his game face on. “Alright, so what do we know, boys?” The pretty little one cleared her throat. “Well, and lady. Excuse me, Miss Bishop.” 

 

“That's  _ Mrs.  _ Bishop, Agent Wilmington. Jacob's a lawyer, and he's just itching to switch from government counsel to civil suits.” She smiled brightly, and Buck's face fell. Vin knew it was all an act on Buck's part. However, Gibbs brought it back around to the case with a clearing of his throat. Bishop continued. “Well, we know that Earl McCallen took an Android device from Michael Taylor Jr. when Mickey's Nanny – who is also Earl's step-daughter, met with him.” 

 

“What do we know about the nanny, people?” Josiah was taking notes, trying to get a good feel for McCallen, hoping his profile would help them get closer. 

 

“Late forties, married to a Hispanic man. Husband's an insurance agent.” Their young one was reading off the screen. Vin nodded along with the rest of the Seven. “She works for the Taylors because she enjoys it. She used to teach school, but decided she didn't want to put up with the annoyance of the paperwork involved.” 

 

“But she wanted to make a difference in children's lives.” Josiah was pondering that. 

 

“You said ' _ step-daughter.' _ What happened to Dad?” Vin spoke up, curious. 

 

“Her father was killed in Viet Nam. He was in the Army.” McGee explained. Vin caught a shared look of something between the two leaders. 

 

“Hey, now,” he groused. “Army's just fine.” He snorted, trying to interject a little bit of humor while keeping them on track. “So, she's wantin' to help out another military family. I can see that. Did he join up, or was he drafted? That might make a bit'a difference.” 

 

“It makes a world of difference.” That was Nathan. “If he was drafted and she's doing this, it might be to get close enough to help Earl out.” 

 

“I didn't get the sense she wanted to help him anywhere, unless it was to the inside of a prison cell,” Tony said. Vin liked the guy. It didn't hurt that he was a good ball player, either. 

 

“Mister McCallen seems to be a real piece of work. However, if he's stealing toys from innocent children, perhaps the take we have on the situation is correct.” Ezra lifted his coffee cup and sipped at it. Ole Ez wasn't awake quite yet. Chris had made it especially clear that he wanted his Undercover Agent in here bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Ez had complied, complaining all the way. 

 

“So.” Chris took the lead again. “Either Pauline is on the level and she wants to see her father-in-law in prison for his crimes, or she's working for a military family to get access to information for him.” He looked to Gibbs, then pursed his lips. “So, we need a way to figure out which.” 

 

“I could pose as a bellhop at the hotel the where Taylors are staying. They don't know me. They do know your team, correct? And perhaps, I could manage to pick up something of Pauline's habits and see whether she's trying to meet her renegade step-father, or trying indeed to avoid him.” 

 

“That's a possibility,” Tony nodded. “Boss, he's just as good as I am or better, I hear.” Vin was a little surprised to hear the man support Ezra like that. 

 

“From whom did you hear my credentials?” Ezra was curious. 

 

“I have a few friends in the Bureau.” Uh-oh. Ezra leaned forward, ready to defend himself, verbally and otherwise. “Friends who thought you got the shaft, and that your shafters enjoyed it way too much.” 

 

Ezra sat back. “Well, then, my reputation precedes me.” He sat back in his chair again, all smug and smiling.

 

“I think you would stand out a little too much, Ezra. However, John Dunne might be able to look like a bellhop.” Josiah offered his opinion. 

 

“What do you think, JD,” Chris asked. “You wanna be a bellhop for a day?” 

 

“Maybe, if Tim'll watch the screens.” He played with the ball cap in his hands. 

 

“I could do that. It's usually what I'm doing anyway.” 

 

The two leaders shared a look, and Gibbs grunted. Vin wasn't completely sure what all passed between them with that look, but it wasn't just professional.

 

“You'd better watch them looks, boys, or . . .” 

 

“Not everybody knows Chris as well as you do, Cowboy. I agree, though. But, hell, it's only been a day. Give 'em some time to settle.” Buck chuckled, reaching for a doughnut from the middle of the table. 

 

Vin grinned, and the two men in question both looked down for a moment, cheeks slightly pinking.

 

“Enough,” Gibbs groused, though it wasn't as sharp as Vin knew he could be.

 

“Right. Back to the case, boys. And Ellie.” Chris tipped his hat at Bishop. 

 

“So, we send in JD?” Tim returned their attention to where they'd been, asking Gibbs with a look. 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“Great,” Chris nodded. “JD, you spend some time with Ezra. Get some training from him. Hell, if DiNozzo wants to help, he can too. What works for Ez might not work for you. The more the merrier. Sanchez. Get me a profile of both father and daughter.” 

 

“McGee.” Gibbs looked pointedly at his tech. 

 

“Get updates from Vance, Abby and Ducky, and watch the chatter.” He nodded, moving to step outside the door to make phone calls. 

 

“Bishop.” Gibbs turned toward her. 

 

“Find out who in the area knows about McCallen's habits, and give that information to Josiah.” 

 

“DiNozzo?” 

 

“Help Ezra and JD set this thing up, call my contacts on the Navy side and see what exactly that other information on the card was, or at least something that'll give us a heads up.” He jerked his head toward the door, directing JD out of it. Ezra slowly rose, grabbing his coffee before he followed. 

 

He tipped his hat to Chris. “Mister Larabee? I do believe we've found someone more efficient than you. Lord knows efficiency applies in other areas as well,” he teased.

 

“Go on, now,” Chris drawled, though his tone was teasing. Ezra walked out. “Who doesn't have something to do?” 

 

“Me, Chris.” Nathan looked up. 

 

“I want you calling the hospitals and asking them to alert us to any big gun-related mass injuries. Excluding gangs.” He looked over at Josiah when he said that, and Josiah nodded. 

 

“You're right, Brother Chris. If he's a true believer, then he would eschew any discussion or connection with infidels.” Josiah stood, as well. “If you don't mind, gentlemen, I'll start sketching this out.” Both leaders nodded their assent, and Josiah left, too. 

 

“Bucklin. You're on logistics. Figure out what we're gonna need for this op and start preppin' for the next one. That's not gonna be a cake walk.” 

 

“Will do, Big Dog.” Buck nodded, saluted with two fingers, and stepped out the door of the room. 

 

“I ain't got an assignment yet, Cowboy.” Vin spoke up. 

 

“I got a special deal for you. I want you and Gibbs to go over the guns that were taken. Between the two of you, you can give me stats on them, and possible uses, both standard and . . .” 

 

“More criminal. Gotcha, Chris. I can do that.” Chris nodded at Vin's acceptance, and turned to Gibbs. 

 

“You okay with that, Wolf? I could use the help. He's been a Marshall and an Army sergeant. Vin, this here's 'Black Wolf.' Most decorated sniper of the first Gulf War.” 

 

“Damn. I've heard stories about you. Yeah, I could work with you.” He grinned. “Even if you are a damn Marine.” 

 

“ _ Semper Fi,”  _ Gibbs looked a little embarrassed at the praise, but he nodded. “I can do that. Gimme a moment, Tanner.” He jerked his head toward the door again, and Tanner walked out, waiting for the man. He had a feeling that the words being said didn't need an audience. He stepped over to his desk to grab the lists of guns. He'd already started looking over them, making notes about the ones he was less sure of when Gibbs joined him. 

 

“Anticipate. Good man.” Gibbs pulled up a chair, and the two of them set to work. 


	11. Chapter 11

JD stepped up to Pauline. “Bellhop, Ma'am. May I take your bag?”

 

“Oh.” Pauline looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “If you don't mind. It's been a long flight.” 

 

“Safe, I hope.” He tried to draw her into conversation without asking for too much personal information. 

 

“Oh, yes, just long. We flew from the East Coast.” She didn't specify which airport, but JD didn't mind. She was talking. 

 

“I'm glad, Ma'am. Lead the way.” They walked toward the elevator and waited for it. 

 

“I wonder where...” She looked around, probably looking for the Taylors. 

 

“Are you missing a member of your party, ma'am? I can have them paged.” JD knew that Gibbs had grabbed the Taylors and filled them in. They were waiting outside until JD was done. 

 

“Yes, I am. But they probably got waylaid by . . .” She paused, pursed her lips, and then must have decided. “I'm a nanny, and the little one is pretty curious.” 

 

“I understand, ma'am. My momma used to say I was curious as a little bear by a bee hive.” Actually, it had been Buck who'd said that, and he heard the chuckles on the line, but he thought it sounded better coming from his momma. Besides, she had said something similar, just not exactly that. 

 

The woman chuckled, and the elevator doors opened. “I bet your momma is proud of you.”

 

“I like to think she would be, ma'am. She's passed on.” 

 

“I'm sorry. What's your name? I'm Pauline.” 

 

“I'm Johnny, ma'am.” He remembered how his mother had bent over backwards to do everything the executive had asked of her. “And thank you. She was a personal assistant, so you kind of have the same job she did.” He grinned, the bright, mischievous grin that Buck always labeled his 'trouble' grin, and Pauline laughed wholeheartedly. 

 

“That's so. If you don't mind me askin', where are you from? You sound like you're from back east.” She gave the doorman in the elevator the floor number, and the car started moving. 

 

“Boston, ma'am. Moved out here to be with friends.” That much was true. He was with friends. 

 

“Well, I'll be. I'm from here.” Pauline sighed. “Well, I was. When my momma got remarried, I had to leave. The man is a . . .” She looked around, noticing it was just Johnny and the doorman, and huffed out a breath of frustration. “The man is a prick. He is into some things that I cannot condone, but I don't want to hurt my momma. She doesn't know. She thinks he hung the moon.” 

 

“She wouldn't have married him otherwise, probably.” JD mused. That was almost enough. He pushed just a little more. “Does he know you're in town?” 

 

“Oh, probably. He tries to keep tabs on me. I think he might have a PI or one of those guys following me, but I'm not sure. So, he probably knows I'm here. He's asked me to come work for him about ten times, and every time, I turn him down. I don't wanna get tangled up in what he's doin'. 

 

“No, I wouldn't either, ma'am. Not if it's not anything good.” He sighed.  _ This undercover work was hard.  _ He had a new appreciation for Ez and Tony. 

 

“Oh, I hope Mike and Shelly come soon.” She started twisting the strap on her purse. “I'm so nervous about bein' here and possibly running into him.” 

 

“Do you need some help? I could call the police for you?” JD chewed on his lip. 

 

“I would, but he's got a couple friends on the force here. It's how he escapes trouble. I'll be okay. Mike's a Marine. And I'm pretty much always around Mickey. So, he'll keep us all safe.” She nodded, and the elevator doors opened again. 

 

“I surely hope so, ma'am. Uh, I have a friend who might be able to help. He's a federal agent. Would you like him to give you a call?” He pulled out a steno pad and scribbled Chris' name and number on it. 

 

“I'll consider it, thanks. It might be worth doin'. To get him off the streets, I mean. He scares me.” She shuddered. 

 

“Well, ma'am, I hope you keep safe.” They wheeled to her room, and he dropped the suitcases down inside her room. She tipped him, and he grinned again. “Thank you, ma'am, and I hope you have a wonderful stay at the Summit Hotel.” 

 

“Thank you, Johnny.” She reached over and patted his cheek. “You've given me a lot to think about.” 

 

JD wheeled the cart back to the elevator where Ezra was holding the door open for him. “Wow, Ez, I don't know how you do this all the time.”

 

“I do believe, Mister Johnny Dunne, that I may have some stiff competition.” JD heard a 'hear, hear' in his earpiece. 

 

“Aw, c'mon, guys. I just . . .” 

 

“You  _ just _ completed your first extremely successful undercover mission, JD. Good job.” Chris spoke up. “Now, come on back to the van.” 

 

They left the hotel having a lot more to ponder than they did before.

 

* * *

 

 

They decided that Tanner had the most current contacts at the police department, so they got the all-clear from the Chief to go mole-hunting. Tony was intent on finding the dirty cops, and he was extremely tempted to cross lines to get it done.

 

One long, pointed look from Gibbs had him slowing down somewhat. He still was chomping at the bit, as Vin had said. “Boss,” he pulled out his phone, making it look like he was checking text messages. Instead, he was rereading a note he'd left himself.  _ Never again. Danny. Never again. _ He sighed. “So, our best bet for the dirty ones are . . .” He pondered the options, looking through the names. “Probably Jacobs, Santana, and Jephs.” 

 

“Walk me through it, Tony.” Chris asked, gesturing to the screen in front of him. “Why?” 

 

“Santana. First off, he's new. Lot of times, the new guys are the ones who fall for the line, either because they're eager to get a good start in their new place, or they took the job to be somebody's inside man. If there are dirties, usually, they do get found out. There have been too many cop shows for them not to. It only takes one whistle-blower to bring the whole thing down. Sometimes, it's too much work to weed them out entirely, so you have to work at keeping them sidelined, not making any huge decisions, not heading departments, that kind of thing. Santana's never been moved up. Or given much control. That  _ might  _ be because he  _ is  _ new, but it could just as easily be because they have him pegged as unreliable.” 

 

“It could be because he doesn't fit well within his peer group,” Bishop chimed in with her opinion. 

 

“That's a possibility too, but he goes out with the guys. If he was an outsider, he wouldn't get invited for drinks. 

 

“Okay,” Chris nodded, accepting Tony's words. “And the other two?” 

 

“Classic partners in too deep. One's got a mortgage that's about to foreclose, and suddenly, he pays off a lot. Now, I don't know where he's getting the money, but we can look. The other . . .” He paused, wrinkling his nose in thought. “Gut feeling, Boss. And Boss' . . .” He snorted, not sure how to continue that, so he waved a hand. A couple of the Seven chuckled. Gibbs, however, did not. “Right. Focusing.” He thought for a moment, looking on the screen to see what it was about this guy that made him think he was their major mole. “Jacobs is . . .” He rubbed a thumb across his lips in thought, trying to remember. “Jacobs. McGee, go over that list of associates, please? Compare it to anybody in Jacobs' file. I've got a hunch.” 

 

“Do it, McGee.” Gibbs seconded, but McGee was already pulling up the information. 

 

“Boss, he dated Pauline for a couple years. So, he'd know Earl.” 

 

“That's not enough on its own.” JD mentioned. 

 

“But perhaps another jilted lover who's come to make his way on the force might be able to get him to commiserate over beers.” Ezra sat back in his seat, looking for all the world like a forlorn, lovesick man. 

 

“Might work.” Gibbs lifted his brows as he gazed over at his boyfriend.  _ God. It feels weird to even  _ _ **think** _ _ that. _ Tony snickered, and shook his head. 

 

“Might. It's a damn sight more than we've got at the moment. You think our contacts'll let ole Ez in there to work?” 

 

“Yeah, they would. Especially if we're cleaning house for them. We just have to promise not to be assholes about it.” He glared at Tim. “No bothering them about their poor tech. They're fully aware they're about two decades behind.” 

 

“Okay, Tony,” Tim held up his hands in surrender. “We won't bother them about out-of-date, unsupported systems.” 

 

“Good.” He nodded once, and turned to Gibbs. “It's your show, Bosses.” 

 

“Usually is, DiNozzo,” Gibbs snorted. “C'mon.” 

 

His lover filled in what Gibbs left unsaid. “We've got an op to plan.”

 

* * *

 

_They had ridden hard, pausing for long enough to care for their horses or track Marlon through the brush. Chris wished Vin was around, because it would have gone that much more quickly. He also knew the man wouldn't have said a damn thing about the looks he and the marshal kept exchanging. It was a damn good thing the two men were out riding together for this. They'd have been hung up high pretty damn quick in town. However, for two old dogs, they didn't do half bad. Chris' grin turned feral and he gazed over the edge of the hill to where Marlon lay asleep beside a small fire. It wasn't yet sundown, but apparently, escaping the law made a man plumb tuckered out._

 

_With a jerk of the head, Gibbs, now dismounted, told Chris which way he would go. Chris would go the other way, and they'd meet in the middle. It'd worked last night by the fire, and sure as hell would work again. He nodded, grin still on his face, and dismounted as quietly as he could, letting Pony graze peacefully on the grass. Gibbs' 'Diane', named for one of the widow women he'd almost married, knickered softly, and Pony joined her by the brush. The grass was a little thicker there, and the two would be happy as clams eating it. He shook his head and watched Gibbs move quietly toward the other end of the camp. Chris timed it, set to moving slowly, and the two met neatly on either side of their outlaw._

 

“ _Hey, Marlon,” Gibbs called, and Chris pursed his lips at his foolishness. Thinking about it, though, he had no room to talk. He was known for callin' people out in the middle of the street, so waking up a wanted criminal was standard, he supposed. “Wake up now, time to go back into jail.” That woke the man up. Of course, like any other sane man, he slept with a gun beneath his pillow when on the road. He aimed it at Gibbs. It was time._

 

“ _I wouldn't do that, Marlon,” Chris drawled, tipping his hat back so the setting sun would catch his face. He had his Colt aimed at the man. “I won't fire unless you do, and Marshal Gibbs is a damn sight more able to get out of the way than you are.”_

 

_Marlon turned, surprised at the presence of another man. “Larabee.” He blinked. “I thought the Marshal rode alone.”_

 

“ _Usually do,” Gibbs said, stepping over to grab the gun from the outlaw's hands. “Figured I needed somethin' new to catch a rapscallion like you.” Gibbs' grin matched his own, feral and wild. His body thrummed with the chase and capture. He wouldn't tell a soul, but he loved working as a lawman. It let him keep chasing and riding hard, but in defense of their little town instead of chasing ghosts._

 

“ _Larabee, get his horse. We'll take his stuff with us. Man needs his things about him when he's hung.” Though Marlon tried to struggle, Gibbs had a hold on him and wouldn't let go. They rode back into Four Corners by the next night, and Marlon sat in the jail cell, waiting for Judge Travis to come through town to hold the trial._

 

_The moment he got Marlon in the cell, he tossed the key ring to JD. “You boys watch him. I got to go take care of my ranch. You need me, you ride on out, but be sure to call out. I need to get some good sleep, and you wake me up too close to hand, could be lookin' at the barrel of my Colt instead of my smilin' face.”_

 

“ _What's that, Big Dog?” Bucklin teased. “You smile? Since when?” Chris rolled his eyes and tipped his hat. He stopped in at Gloria's store to grab a few things to eat, stowed them in his saddlebags, and then gave one last look around. He mounted Pony and left town without much more of a by-your-leave._

 

_He reached the house in good time and began fixing supper. Soon enough, as if they'd planned it, Marshal Gibbs rode up, calling his name. “In here,” he called, stepping out to the door of the cabin. “C'mon in. Almost have the stew done.”_

 

“ _Good. I'm hungry.” Chris snorted, because the man's face was as easy to read as newsprint. He wasn't hungry for food._

 

“ _Could wait a bit on the stew if you'd rather pass the time some other way.” Chris could feel his body responding just from the look in the other man's eye._

 

_Gibbs grunted again, setting his hat aside on the table. His gunbelt came next. Then, he sat on the other chair, toed off his boots, and set them aside, almost methodically. “Could.” He looked up, a slight hesitance evident in his gaze._

 

“ _Come on, now. It's been a while since I let a man fill me. Might feel damn good.” Chris wondered if that was the hesitance. He'd been the receiver before. He'd enjoyed it._

 

_Gibbs blinked, seeming to be surprised at Chris' bold manner of speaking._

 

“ _No one here for miles, Gibbs. It's why I picked the damn place. I can do what I damn well please here.” And what he pleased to do tonight was spend it beneath the marshal._

 

_Gibbs nodded, face thoughtful, and then pulled the tails of his shirt out of his pants as though he were undressing for a bath. Chris started unbuttoning his own outer shirt slowly, drawing Gibbs' gaze. The firelight flickered, and Chris' smile widened. He wanted the chance to see the other man instead of just sliding through the clothes. He wanted to touch and taste._

 

_He voiced that thought. “I want to touch you tonight, Jethro. Want to lick your skin.” He heard his voice dropping, into the gravelly range that he only heard when he was fucking or fighting. He watched Jethro respond and grinned evilly, sliding his suspenders down off his shoulders._

 

_Gibbs was already down to his union suit, and was working that off too. “Yeah,” he rasped, eyes darkening with lust. “Me too.” That was enough for Chris. He unbuckled his belt and pants and stood, dropping the offending things right there. He stepped out of them, shucking the long underwear as he went. By the time he reached Gibbs, both men were bare, and the shivers they felt weren't just from the light breeze blowing through the cabin._

 

“ _Come on, now. You got objections to the bed?” He knew that some things, some nights, could be a trigger to a man who'd lost his woman, and there were nights he couldn't stand to sleep in a bed at all, much less alone._

 

_Gibbs shook his head and moved over to the corner of the room where Chris' bed sat against the wall. Chris followed him, watching the way his steps affected his body. He shuddered, wanting . . ._

 

_Before he got all the way over to the bed, he groaned in remembrance and stepped back to grab the saddle oil. “This work?” He held up the container for inspection._

 

_ A grunt was all he got in response. The stray thought that crossed his mind made him chuckle: Bucklin was always saying that he'd have to actually  _ _ **talk** _ _ some day. He didn't expect to be drawn back out of his non-verbal shell by a man less talkative than he was on a bad day.  _

 

“ _What's funny?” Jethro asked, hands reaching down to play with his own cock._

 

“ _Just thinkin' about somethin' stupid. Never expected to be the talkative one.” That got a smirk and a shrug, which were telling enough. He strode over, cock hardening at the sight of the man on the bed._

 

_Jethro grinned, tilting his head toward the wall, clearly saying 'come here'. Chris followed him easily, taking in the sight he hadn't seen yet. Jethro's body carried a few scars from his years of fighting and hunting men. They were alike in so many ways, but there were a few differences. Chris looked at Jethro's thick cock, shuddering again at the thought of it breaching his ass. He crawled up on to the bed and climbed in beside him. When he did, Jethro's arms came around him, and he could reach up to cradle the man's face in his hands before kissing him with intent. “Don't want to wait. Want to feel you all the way inside.” He knew his words sounded hokey, but they were the unvarnished truth. “You know how to prep a man, Jethro?”_

 

_Jethro merely grunted, sliding his hand down Chris' ass and playing with his buttocks. That felt good. He passed the saddle oil over to him, and pressed back against the roaming fingers when they started to invade. At first, Chris felt the uncomfortable feeling, but then when he got far enough in, it felt damn good. Chris ground back on to the man's fingers, uncaring of how it made him look. He wanted this. Badly. He groaned loudly, glad for the whistling wind blowing past his cabin. Even if one of the boys was out there, they couldn't hear them playing. Not with the noise of the wind. Finally, Jethro pulled fingers out of his ass, and they shifted positions until they were both comfortable with where they were going. Chris felt the fat tip of his cock slide in, and . . ._

 

The damn alarm rang again. Both men groaned simultaneously. “Dammit,” Jethro swore, waking up enough to gaze over at his lover. “Time is it?”

 

“I set it early, Wolf. Figured we'd dream, and knowin' what I'd do in that situation . . .”

 

“Hell, yeah,” Jethro grinned, then he rolled over, pressing Chris down into his mattress. “You want the same thing? You want me settin' you up?”

 

“Might as well. Ridin' ain't what it used to be,” Chris grinned, knowing Jethro would understand what he was trying to say.

 

“You gotta keep yourself quiet. My team's out there. If that's how you are,” Jethro growled into his ear, “then, you gotta keep it all in. Don't need anybody else hearin' that.” He grinned, then sealed their lips together, sliding his tongue into Chris' mouth, taking control of the situation just fine. When they broke apart, Chris was hot and panting. Jethro grinned down at him, then reached over to feel in the drawer for the lube. “We need a wrap?”

 

Chris thought about it, and nodded. “Yeah, probably.” His voice was low and gravelly from sleep and lust. “Some in there, should be.”

 

“Got 'em,” Jethro replied, setting out the tube of lube and a condom packet. He made short work of the packet, sliding the condom on, then popped open the lube. He kept his eyes looking into Chris', reading his comfort levels and adjusting his movements to them. Chris felt more cared for than he had in a while. He had to close his eyes for a moment to push that thought back. It hurt, and now was not the time for grief. “You alright?” The fingers stretching him paused.

 

“Yeah, just thinkin' too much,” Chris replied to Jethro's question with a wry smile.

 

Jethro just grunted and returned to preparing him. “You ready?”

 

“Born ready.” Chris grinned up at him, and Jethro shook his head. Chris heard the snap of the lube lid one more time, and then he felt Jethro's cock slide inside. He moved slowly, wanting to get settled before he began to move, but both men closed their eyes, the feeling downright overwhelming.

 

“Gonna have to keep quiet myself, Black,” his Wolf commented, sliding a little further in. “Because . . .” His voice trailed off, as though he wanted to say a hell of a lot more, but was too nervous or focused on something else to do so. Chris snorted, and, as seemed to be an emerging pattern between them, interjected his own opinion into the silence.

 

“Feels pretty damn good, Jethro. Fuck me.” Chris pushed down, encouraging him in further. Jethro complied, almost completely seated. Chris reached up, pulling him down for a bruising kiss, and Jethro pushed the rest of the way in. Chris grinned lasciviously when they broke for air, and clamped down on Jethro's cock. That drew a sharp breath that Chris was sure, if they were alone, would have been a long, loud groan. “That's right, I wanna hear this. Even if I can't hear all of it. I wanna hear you make noise.” He knew he was starting to spout nonsense, but he couldn't care less.

 

Jethro couldn't either, it seemed. He began thrusting, and Chris shifted a little to make it better for both of them. For a while, the only sounds they made were heavy, quiet breathing, small pants and soft groans, and the unmistakable sound of bodies sliding together intimately. Instinctively, Chris wanted to stay there forever. He wanted Jethro to be able to stay at the ranch with him, keep him in his bed, and fuck him every morning. He wanted to go back to DC, follow him around and learn everything there was to know about Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He knew he couldn't, though, and time was a wastin'. They had a case to get to, and the morning was passing.

 

He shifted again, tightening his muscles just a little, and Jethro sped up. The move had made him hit Chris' prostate directly almost every stroke, so he was getting close to coming. “Pull on it,” Chris commanded, and Jethro reached down, grabbing his cock with slick fingers. He pulled on it a few times, and that was enough. Chris shuddered, his cock shooting between them. With a few more thrusts, Jethro's pace began to get fast and erratic. He slammed into Chris' body, taking what he needed, and then he stiffened, eyes closing involuntarily as he came.

 

Chris braced, ready for the man to collapse down on him, hoping he would, but Jethro pulled out and collapsed beside him. Chris decided he wanted to tangle up with him anyway, so he rolled over and pressed their bodies together. “Not goin' anywhere for a bit, Jethro. Need this.” It was one thing he'd learned about himself from his years with Sarah.

 

Jethro looked at him, somewhat surprised, as though he almost expected to be pushed away. Chris' eyes narrowed in anger, and he had to look away from Jethro and close his eyes to keep from growling angrily at whoever had taught him that he needed to shy away from the touch of his own lover's hand.

 

Chris ran a hand down Jethro's cooling skin, the two of them still breathing heavily. “Least let your heart settle, cowboy,” Chris teased, hoping it was the right tack to take.

 

“Can do that,” his lover replied, opening his arms and letting Chris slide even closer. The two men sighed contentedly. Jethro spoke up, surprising Chris. “So, today, we send them over to the Department?”

 

“Think that's what we decided, yeah. That way, if there is a connection, we can cut that off before more intel gets passed through.”

 

“Like a damn Hydra,” Gibbs growled, already starting to shift from lover to hunter.

 

“Josiah says that the dark is an _ever changing_ . . . somethin' or other. Got it from those Potter books.” Chris let his hand roam, finding scars and distinguishing features all over his lover's skin. If he could get Jethro to talk, maybe he could feed this urge of _knowin'_ just a little bit.

 

Jethro snorted, and did indeed start to talk. “Abs reads those. I think McGee does too.” Jethro's hands were doing the same, and it felt good. Their eyes met for a moment, and Jethro continued. “Don't know what I'm doin'. I've fucked up . . .” He paused, and Chris didn't have to hear the rest to know what he was gonna say.

 

He grunted his understanding. “Haven't gotten it right often myself. Feels like that mighta changed, but not sure how to keep it that way. I get possessive. Moody.” He saw a mirrored understanding in Gibbs' expression, and nodded. “Was thinkin' while you were inside. I wanted to keep you here. Wanted to go home with you. Don't know whether that's anything more than endorphins and the like, but I know you. Trust you.”

 

“Not the same guy you knew, Black.” Gibbs' voice was a whisper, and it sounded so frustrated. Chris thought he might be annoyed at himself more than Chris.

 

“I'm not either. Loss changes a man. This _job_ changes a man.” He pursed his lips. “You hear about Ella Gaines?” They'd finally tracked her down and arrested her. She'd wiggled out of the charges on a technicality, but had been involved in a car accident shortly thereafter. She was driving drunk, and had wrapped her car around a lightpost. “That kinda revenge . . .”

 

“Yeah.” He'd heard, and he understood. Chris nodded, leaned in for another kiss, this one conveying the care he felt for his lover. He wasn't as chatty as Buck, but he damn sure could get his point across. This was new, but that didn't change the fact that it was something he wanted to keep forever. And by the response he was getting, he might not be the only one.

 

The two men kissed for a few more moments and then sighed as they separated. “Shower?” They asked almost in unison.

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Chris grinned, standing up and pulling Jethro with him.


	12. Chapter 12

When the two men emerged from the bedroom all dressed and ready to go, they both had this ease of movement that Buck knew well. He grinned over at Tony. _Somebody_ had gotten lucky last night. Maybe that meant he wouldn't be such a bear today. Tony grinned, shrugging his shoulders. 

 

“Mornin', Big Dog,” Buck turned his grin on his boss. “We brought you all breakfast. Since we've got a big op comin' on, we twisted Inez's arm, and she made us Huevos Rancheros.” The DC folks looked confused, though Tony was working through the Spanish. 

 

“Rancher's Eggs?” He grinned. 

 

“Close enough for government work. It's more like scrambled egg burritos. Damn good. And Inez's are the best in the area.” Buck started passing them out to everyone here. “Ole Ez is on his way. You know he don't like getting' up until he really has to.” Gibbs snorted and looked toward Tony, who grinned right back. _Yeah, they're keepers. And if the old man can make Chris look like that long-term, we're golden._

 

“Ohhh,” Tony looked pleased as he took his and unwrapped it. “I had a cook for a while who'd make these. She didn't last long.” He rolled his eyes. “Senior thought they were too lowbrow. I loved 'em.” He took a bite and closed his eyes, probably surrounded by memories. 

 

“Know how that goes,” Buck nodded. He unwrapped his own and started eating. “Momma and me ate about anything we could get our hands on, but she used to say things, too.” He shrugged, looking over at the members of their teams. The door swung open, and Buck turned to see Josiah herding Ezra into the room. 

 

“Look what I found outside, Brothers! And Sister.” He tipped his hat to Ellie who was silently eating her burrito. “Are those from Inez?” 

 

“You know for a certainty they are, Mister Sanchez. The napkins have the emblem of the Saloon on them. Don't act like the buffoon I know you are not, please.” Ezra's acerbic tone rang out. “I do hope you purchased enough of those for me to have one.” 

 

“I bought enough for the whole lot of you. So, sit your ass down and eat,” Buck grinned. “Here ya go, Josiah.” He handed one off to the big man. Both of the newcomers looked over at their leaders, then back at Buck. Buck shrugged and nodded. 

 

“You done?” Gibbs grumbled, finishing his own burrito. He fell silent after a moment, and Buck noticed that Chris had slid his hand across the other man's, playing with his thumb. 

 

“We've got an op to run today,” Chris began, taking over from where Gibbs had gotten their attention. “Ezra's slated to step in. His contacts there are willing to look the other way, especially if we can take out the jackasses corrupting their department. They were wondering why a few things weren't getting done, and they took a deeper look, and damn if that wasn't the tip of the iceberg. So, we've got full compliance from the PD. Still means that some of them might talk to the others, though. Might not be in on the op. So, we've gotta be careful. Tony'll go in beside him as a new IA man trying to see what's going on. Hopefully, we can play both ends against the middle.” He paused, turning to give a look to Gibbs, who had done something with his own hand.

 

Buck was glad that nobody else knew them as well as their teams did. They'd be seen pretty damn quickly. He wasn't sure it mattered, but he had kept Chris safe this long, and had a vested interest in that continuing.

 

Chris continued. “The rest of us will step in here and there, depending on what the boys need. We've got enough skills we'll pull it through, but we don't know _what_ we're gonna need until they get set up. The cover's gonna be that Ezra's tryin' to get back together with his lady. Ellie, you mind?”

 

“I can do that, yeah. That way if anybody listens . . . You mind if we go ahead and use my regular first name? I get to thinking and talking, and . . .”

 

“That would be acceptable. I, on the other hand, will be Ellory Marshall.” There was a shared look between the leaders at the mention of that name. Buck had a feeling he knew what it was about, but he kept it to himself.

 

“So, the rest of us are floaters?” Tim asked, eyes on his Boss.

 

“Yeah. You and Junior stay on the computers, McGee. I want you digging up whatever you can find about those three officers. If there's a way to pinpoint which one of 'em it is easily, I want it yesterday.”

 

“On it, Boss,” McGee said, just as JD piped up with something similar.

 

“And I'll do something similar, keeping my phone handy to talk to my boyfriend. Ellie and Ellory. Hopefully, we won't get confused.” Bishop grinned.

 

Gibbs grunted, and turned to Tanner. “Figured I'd sit out in that cafe across the street from the PD. I do some mornings anyway, and I might be able to hear somethin' while talkin' to folks. . .”

 

“Good, Tanner, that's good.” Gibbs nodded, surreptitiously looking over at Chris to make sure he wasn't usurping any authority. Chris shrugged. Gibbs was doin' just fine.

 

“I'll man the phones back at our desk, Agents. I should be able to smooth the way with various agencies and connections to make sure they know we're not honing in on their active investigations.” Josiah offered his own role, and both Chris and Gibbs nodded approval.

 

Buck thought about it for a moment. “Don't rightly know what I'll do. Maybe I'll stick with the boys on the computers, just in case they or our boys inside need to move quick-like.”

 

“Good enough, Cowboy,” Chris replied. “Gibbs and I'll be keeping communication going between everyone. Nathan, you'll be on hand for anything that needs patched up. We need these guys able to talk, Ez. So, no . . . _unfortunate accidents._ ” Gibbs snorted, and Buck saw the hints of a true smile. _Damn._

 

“Let's roll out, boys. You got uniforms?” Chris looked over at Tony and Ezra.

 

“Certainly,” Ezra sounded affronted. But Buck knew he was glad Chris checked on him.

 

“DiNozzo?”

 

“Yeah, Boss?”

 

“You got your uniform?”

 

“Pressed and ready to go. I do know how this goes.” He grinned insouciantly at their leaders.

 

“Good. Still don't have my permission,” Gibbs growled.

 

“Fair enough. You don't have mine, either.” Tony replied. It was a strange exchange, but Buck didn't question it. Team had their own dynamic, and he'd respect that.

 

“Good. Let's go,” Chris jerked his head toward the door. Vin caught him, and Buck heard the two men talking about the horses. So, either Vin had fed the horses already, or Chris was asking him to. Good. Peso and Pony needed to be fed whether things were heatin' up inside the house or not. Buck grinned as he sauntered out to the truck.

 

* * *

“This is Antonio DiNailo. He's from IA. He's a recent hire, and we're hoping to see what he can do.” At the Captain's introduction, Tony strode in, suit and shades on, looking for all the world like a G-Man on a hunt. He scanned over all the faces, and nodded, silently taking notice of the three men he'd mentioned. The new kid looked nervous, Tony noted.

 

“That's big D, little I, Big N, eye-oh, not DiNail-oh, or any other variation you numbskulls can come up with.” He strutted around, glad he'd watched enough Feebs to know how they ran an investigation. “You're not smart enough to figure out what I'm gonna do next, so please, do us both the favor of not even trying.” He was overplaying this, he knew, but with Ezra slipping in as a beat cop hard on his luck, they needed the corrupt cops' attention elsewhere. Speaking of, he noticed 'Marshall' sitting in the back, shades on, sprawled out in his chair, completely uncaring of what the man speaking was saying. _Good. He was good._ He'd heard, but it was one thing to hear, and another to see for himself. He heard a snort in his ear that sounded a lot like his boss. He grinned, then turned it sharp for his audience. “I'm here because something's rotten in Denmark, or should I say, Denver . . .?”

 

One of the officers in the middle shifted in his seat and yelled out, “Get on with it already.”

 

“Missing your doughnut run?” Tony asked, lifting his brow disdainfully. He wasn't one of the three suspected, but Tony was open to there being _more_ corruption as well as being wrong on who was corrupt. So, he acted like everybody was against him.

 

“I might be,” the patrol officer sassed back, and Tony leaned in.

 

“Then, maybe I should figure out what's so good about your doughnut run. You just offered to take me with you. Shall we?” He stepped away from the microphone and jerked his head toward the door. The cop came without a fuss, even going so far as to flip off his fellow officers. “Later, losers!”

 

Tony internally rolled his eyes. “Get to work, the rest of you. I'll be back to talk to you later.” He led the patrol officer out the door, reading his tag. “Jackson. Tell me what's up.”

 

“You're overplaying it, man. They'll notice.” They walked toward the cafe across the street.

 

“I'm supposed to be noticed.” Tony began, motioning Vin over to him.

 

“What's up, G-man?” Vin teased, sitting down with them.

 

“Oh,” Jackson got it. “You've got a second guy in there. Might have had him in there for a while.” He shrugged. “Got it.”

 

Tony nodded. They didn't want to clear up the misconceptions, because they might help Ezra get his job done. “Now, is this where you go for doughnuts? Because now, I'm hungry.”

 

Jackson grinned, and Vin laughed. But they ordered a couple doughnuts.

 

* * *

“Can you believe him?” The man next to Ezra pointed up to Tony's retreating figure. “Just waltzes in here like he owns the place.” He stuck his hand out to Ezra, and Ez shook it. “I'm Rick Jacobs.”

 

“Ellory Marshall,” Ezra replied, drawling out the name slowly. “I, too, am new. Perhaps I should have chosen a different day to start. Heaven knows I've already got enough going on in my life right now.” He ran a hand through his hair, as though life was completely stressful.

 

“Yeah, you picked a Hell of a day to start.” Jacobs shrugged. “Do you have a partner yet?”

 

“Nossir, not yet. I was supposed to meet with someone about that. Do you know who might need a partner?” That might help them get started well. He was playing stupid here, and that usually led to good things, especially when his partner was being an overbearing ass.

 

“Might. Tell me a little about yourself.”

 

Ezra told him the sad tale of Ellory Marshall. He'd dated several women over the period of a few months, looking for a home and a family. The women had all turned out to be bitches, and he'd had to find a new job because one of them had even told his boss he'd gone corrupt. He _hadn't_ , Ezra was quick to reassure the other man, but she didn't understand what he was going through. Maybe he'd made a decision or two that wasn't wise, but didn't everyone? It was a good story, and they'd gotten help backstopping it well.

 

“Damn, kid. You need some help. Let me . . .” Jacobs outlined his plan, and Ezra jumped for joy inside.

 

It wouldn't be difficult at all to find the evidence they needed.


	13. Chapter 13

Josiah sat in the office, waiting for a phone call, text or email that required any action. He'd already alerted the appropriate people back at NCIS and sent AD Travis an email keeping them all apprised of their hairbrained scheme. He settled in to read, but found he couldn't keep his eyes focused on the words. His boss had surprised him. 

Josiah hadn't known Chris that long before he was working on his team, so most of what he knew of the man was from working alongside him. He smiled at the way he commanded his troops and left no man behind. It was what he'd been looking for in a team. He thought everything was as good as it was going to get. They'd made a record number of arrests since they'd all gotten together, but that kind of work was hell on a man's . . . private life. He remembered walking in that morning and seeing the way the two team leaders were looking at each other. They certainly were in each others' back pockets. _And more,_ Josiah mused. It was strange. He knew Chris got a dark look in his eye from time to time, and he'd ascribed it to losing Sarah and Adam. Come to find out from Bucklin, he'd had that all his life. It was part of the edge that had kept him alive in the SEALs. 

And Gibbs. Gibbs was something else. He was quieter than Chris -- apparently that _was_ possible -- but he said a hell of a lot more with his expressions. His team was as devoted to him as Team Seven was to Chris. There wasn't a bit of difference in that area. True, Gibbs was slightly more demanding, but Chris had found a way to keep that easygoing side. Maybe it was an effect of living in the West, or maybe it was because he'd kept Buck in his life for so long. He had to be somewhat easygoing to deal with Brother Wilmington for that long. He shrugged, gazing over at his screen to check his email again. There was an update from Ezra, chock full of information. He started plugging it all into the appropriate spots, sending Miss Abby a copy, as well as looking it over for clues on how to set McCallen up. He grinned as he pictured John Dunne's ideas for the last op, and wondered how crazy the boy would get this time. It would get mighty entertaining, he was fully aware. 

He logged off his computer, put his book up, and headed out to his vehicle. They had more planning to do, and the grateful thanks of a police department to enjoy.

* * *

All in all, they found enough evidence to prove that all three men were on the take. Tim and JD found phone calls to Earl McCallen in their phones. Santana had had a separate phone, but he kept it in the same pocket as the other one. Gibbs rolled his eyes at the stupidity of some people. He sat back in Chris' recliner, sipping at his coffee, waiting to see what the team wanted to do next. They had discussed going directly after McCallen, but had decided it would be too risky, since every time they'd ever done so, it'd backfired. They'd have to figure out something different. The teams were throwing ideas around, and it had gotten crazy. Chris took one look at his face, and had jerked his head toward the living room and the recliner. Gratefully, Gibbs took the out, and now he was waiting for a plan to come out of the craziness. In the meantime, he had a few moments to stop and think about this morning.

The sex was good. That was a given. Of course, he figured it would be. Chris was a focused, driven man, and the attention he gave to everything felt good turned on him. He didn't know what to think about the dreams, but something told him they were important. They were pulling the two men closer together, and Gibbs wondered if there was a reason other than their history and compatibility. He'd had dreams about people before, of course, but had never shared them like this. He rubbed a hand across his chin, thoughts a jumbled mess. He heard a footstep behind him, and turned to see his second come in and sit down on the couch near him. 

“Boss, you can headslap me for this, but I'm gonna say it anyway.” He paused, looking over Gibbs' face, making a clear assessment of . . . something. “You're on to something, and I want you to do everything to keep it. The man knows what you're going through, goes through it himself. I mean, even your situations are extremely similar. Normally, I'd say, there wasn't enough difference between the two of you to make it work, but . . .” He paused again, his hand flailing a little. “It just works. I don't understand why. So, I'll say again. I think it's worth fighting for.” 

“Noted, DiNozzo. Was leaning that way myself.” He did reach over and slap the man on the back of the head. 

“Boss! What was that for?” Tony complained, but Gibbs could see the humor in his eyes. 

“Messin' in my love life. Now, go on back in there. I know they need your brand of crazy . . .” 

Tony grinned, and stood. “On it, Boss. And, yes, they need some Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo crazy. Which they'll get.” He turned the corner into the kitchen where they were conferring, and Gibbs heard him call, “He's baaack.” 

Gibbs snorted and took another sip of his coffee. He heard another set of soft footsteps pad into the room, and looked up to see Chris. “You hear all that?” He asked softly, jerking his head toward the kitchen. 

“Some of it. Kid's got a point. I don't know why it works, but damn if it does.” 

Gibbs grunted. He frowned for a moment, then lowered the lever on the easy chair. “You want your seat?” 

“Naw, I'm good. Wanted to see if you were alright out here. I could smell the gears burning from all the way in there.” 

Gibbs snorted again. “Just thinkin'. Haven't done long-term for years. Hopin' I'm not givin' you the short end of the stick.” 

“That's somethin' we both worry about, Wolf,” Chris replied, stepping a little closer. 

Gibbs gave in to his urge to touch, and stood, wrapping his arms around the other man. He pulled Chris close, and sighed, taking comfort in the moment. “Haven't done anything like this for a very long time. Wasn't . . .” He couldn't think of a way to explain it. 

“When I was foolin' around with Ella, she'd fuck me, and then, she'd kick me outta her room. I shoulda realized somethin' then, but it felt good, and I was young and stupid.” Chris grinned, and Gibbs appreciated the way he caught what he was trying to say without a lot of fanfare. “I liked what we did this mornin', but I enjoyed laying beside you almost as much. That feels good. _This_ feels good. Nobody here but us cowboys, and if we're good, nobody else cares.” 

Gibbs grunted. It made sense. He squeezed a little tighter, and Chris did the same. Then, they broke apart, and Chris sat down on the couch. Gibbs gave into his instinct and followed him over, sitting down beside him instead of reclaiming the chair. Chris looked at him askance for a moment, and Gibbs smiled. "Thought I'd stick beside you. Kids all know, or if they don't, they're not payin' attention." He lifted his brows, asking if it was okay. 

Chris grinned and opened his arms, holding him closer. 

"So, where's the plan now? They finally quit talkin' about circus routines?" For some reason, it was easier to talk to the man when he was in his arms. 

Chris snorted. "Think so. They want to move fast because of the intel, but they want to be sure they get the whole thing. Your damn Hydra analogy worked." He pressed a soft kiss to Gibbs' temple, and Gibbs closed his eyes for a moment, unsure of how to react to the kiss. However, he didn't feel the need to move or reciprocate, so he didn't. He did move back into the touch, just soaking it in. He thought he heard footsteps, but didn't move. They all knew, and he didn't give a damn. Not right now. 

"Cowboy," Vin spoke up. "Oh. Uh," 

"Sit down, Tanner," Gibbs groused. "Whatcha got?" 

"Not a lot, Gunny," Vin replied, sitting as he'd been told. He'd taken to calling Gibbs 'sir', which hadn't gone well. So, he'd compromised, and given his Marine rank. He'd always be a Gunnery Sergeant. "I think we hit that point where everybody's too tired to think straight. The best thing we came up with was pretty damn convoluted. It involved a sting with Pauline -- who's up for helpin' us out -- and tapping his phone at the same time. I wasn't sure we'd be able to do both . . ." 

"Why not?" Chris rumbled beside him, and Gibbs felt Chris' body move with the sound. 

"Usually too many fingers. We get too complicated a plan, and it goes ass-over-teakettle before we can say lickety-split." 

"What if the two teams took the two parts? Or split into two separate teams? Put Bishop and the geeks on the tracing, maybe Sanchez and Jackson, and the rest of us do the sting?" Gibbs mused, thoughts whirling out. It was a good plan, just needed a little refinement. 

Chris tensed for a moment, and Gibbs turned his head to catch the expression on his lover's face. "Might work." But something was bothering him. 

"Spit it out," Gibbs quoted Chris' words back to him. "Somethin's on your mind." 

"Too much like . . . " It was Gibbs' turn to fill in the blanks. 

"Different set of circumstances, isn't it? Definitely not Indian Country." By this, Gibbs meant 'overseas.' 

Chris grunted. "Maybe. Keep another team on alert and have ambulances standing by?" Gibbs thougth that might be unnecessary, but was willing to do that much for the other man. 

"Could, if it'll help." Chris nodded at Gibbs acquiescence. 

"Alright, boys, I'll go spread the word. Seems like you got a bit goin' on in here yourselves." 

Gibbs shrugged. They needed to talk, but this might not be the time. Sometimes, it was better to wait until things had settled a bit. 

"We'll be all right, Cowboy. Go on, now." Chris snickered. When Vin had gone back into the other room, Chris sighed. "Wanna go help me feed the horses?" Gibbs knew it was a veiled invitation to talk. He'd take it.

* * *

Chris hefted himself out of the couch and led Gibbs out to the barn. They worked silently for a few moments, then he spoke up. "Had a mission a few years ago. We had a fairly big team at the time. Decided one group would do all the ELINT and one group would do the scut work. The scouting, the clearing, the whole thing. Thing is, we didn't give the two teams a reliable way to keep in touch with each other. We got the whole damn place cleared, came back to take our techies in, and they'd been caught unawares. Every damn one of them . . ." It was more than he'd said about that mission for years. He'd been surprised that he was able to say anything at all. The fact that Jethro understood, had been there, and wouldn't say a damn thing made a huge difference.

In fact, Gibbs just grunted. After another silent moment, he did say something. "Figured it was something like that. We've all got shit we're carrying, Chris," he said, eyes closing briefly. "You know about some of mine, and I know about some of yours. You wanna tell me about it, I'll listen. Don't know how much I'll be able to return the favor. Tend to . . . pull it all in and bury it." 

"I figured," Chris replied, sliding his hands into his pockets as he listened. "I'm not askin' for more than you wanna give, Gibbs." 

"Good. Let's finish this up, and . . . uh, thought about reversin' things around tonight." Chris blinked, wondering if he'd heard correctly. 

"Lettin' me . . ." He chewed on his bottom lip, the thought stirring him. 

"Uh-huh." Gibbs' grin was visible in the evening's low light. "Not averse to sharin' that load." 

The terrible pun made Chris laugh, and Gibbs' smile widened. 

They finished up the work in the barn, clearing out the pens and feeding, and Chris paused to watch the way Jethro's body moved. "Lookin' good, Marine." Chris called over softly. 

Gibbs snorted, pausing to turn to look at him. "Not so bad yourself, Sailor." Chris felt his cheeks warm. 

"Kinda wish . . ." Chris rubbed the back of his neck. Gibbs paused again, looking at him, eyes bright in the dimming light. 

Gibbs grunted, considering what Chris was trying to say. "Had a girlfriend once who worked in one of the other ARMFEDs. She spent a lot of her time out in the field. Made it damn rough." They were on the same page. They finished up, and closed the gates. 

"Yeah. Not lookin' forward to that part." Chris sighed, moving toward the house, Gibbs walking close beside him. "Feel like it's worth figuring out, though." 

"Pretty sure it is." Gibbs had already said as much to DiNozzo. "Not sure how we can do it. Maybe I need to figure out some of that tech stuff. Seems to make it easier. Last time I did much with tech was to listen to the stuff Shan sent over. . . " Chris winced. That _had_ to be difficult. He knew that certain things still bothered him, but to have it linked to the technology they used for cases would be a severe handicap. He nodded, but stayed silent. "Kells had had a piano recital, and Shan found a way to record it for me. She sent me a copy of that, and I listened to it until I nearly wore out the tape. I had to transfer it over to another one, and I still listen to it from time to time. " He huffed out a quiet breath, and Chris nodded again. 

"The ranch was Sarah's idea. When Adam was little, he wanted a horse so bad, I bought Pony. He helped me name him. I tried to rename him once. Damn stubborn fool wouldn't answer to anything else." Now, Chris could see that it was Gibbs' turn to wince. "Yeah. I couldn't get rid of him. Everything else's been boxed up and put away, but I can't get rid of Pony." 

They'd reached the door, and by mutual silent agreement, paused their conversation as they bid everyone else goodnight and headed to his room.


	14. Chapter 14

_"Larabee," the marshal spoke as they sat in the quiet of the evening. Both men were still at the gunslinger's ranch, and they sat drinking thick, dark coffee. They'd worked all day on the ranch, building fences, mending that hole in the roof, and caring for their horses. "Been thinkin'."_

 

_"Ain't no call to injure yourself, Jethro," Chris teased, blue eyes flashing with rare humor._

 

_Gibbs sniled and huffed a quiet laugh. "Thinkin' about movin' out here. Marshall for the area's retirin', and I thought about pickin' up the slack." He looked over at the other man, curious to see what he'd say._

 

_"Wouldn't mind that. We'd have t' find some way to explain your presence to the town. Out here, I mean." He gestured to the farm._

 

_"Two bachelors workin' together in similar work? Wouldn't need to tell too much. Both widowers, both not lookin . . "_

 

_"True enough. Long as we stay discreet. Bucklin might get ideas, but he'll allow for a lot more than he lets on. His momma made her way in a camp . . ." His eyes darkened at some of the stories his brother had told about the way they'd treated her._

 

_"Don't have to tell me about that. Busted enough sons of devils outta places like that." Gibbs' eyes flashed with a similar anger. There was a line, and treating a woman like that crossed way over. They both understood both sides of the saloon girl's exchange, but there was always respect. If not, doors got shut against you. Or worse. Gibbs returned to the point of his discussion. "Couple people in the town wouldn't be so . . . understandin' if we did get caught. Your newspaper woman has her cap set for you."_

 

_Chris snorted. "You noticed? Mary thinks she can_ _**tame** _ _me, and I ain't exactly disabused her of the notion."_

 

_"Might want to make that plain, if I come work with you." Gibbs glared over at his lover. "I can be a mite possessive."_

 

_"Just a mite, now?" Chris grinned again, leaning back in his chair, eyes running down Gibbs' form. "I can do that. Let her know for sure I'm not interested in settlin' down and makin' a home with her. Tough when I want t' spend the time with Billy. Boy needs a good man in his life."_

 

_"Fine to do that without spendin' time with her. Hell, I'd come along. Take the kid fishin', or ridin', or whatever his momma would allow." Gibbs let his mind wander. "Or take him myself, come to it."_

 

_"You hit the point, though. What momma will allow." Chris shook his head, and set the coffee down. "Certain she'd be utterly appalled by the thoughts runnin' through my mind at the moment."_

 

_"Oh?" Gibbs set his own coffee down, absolutely sure of where this was heading, and glad. He'd been watching and waiting all day._

 

_"Mmm-hmmm. Rather not explain, Jethro. Rather show ya." Chris slid the suspenders off his shoulders, and began unbuttoning his shirt._

 

_"Me too." Gibbs started to follow suit._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gibbs woke up, arms wrapped around Chris' torso. "Damn," he whispered into the darkness, feeling Chris awaken slowly. "Wish it was that easy for us."

 

Chris grunted, and Gibbs' arms spread a little more as his lover turned toward him. "Easy to decide, probably not as easy to follow through. Havin' to watch your six twenty-four seven. Ain't my idea of fun." He huffed a soft chuckle that Gibbs felt against his skin.

 

"Yeah," he acknowledged, nuzzling against his skin. "Kinda fun watchin' em, though. That time, I was seein' the whole thing. Like a damn porno, only felt pretty real."

 

Chris grunted assent again, tilting his head back to let Gibbs kiss at his neck. "What'cha thinkin', Hoss?"

 

"Thinkin' I haven't gotten t' taste you yet. You up for that?" Gibbs pulled his head away from Chris' neck long enough to look into his face.

 

"Yeah, I think I could handle that, if you'll let me return the favor." Now, Gibbs was the one grunting agreement. He turned back to kiss and lick on the skin exposed to him, scratching lightly down Chris' abdomen. He devoted his whole attention to the task, focusing on drawing quiet, breathy sounds from the body beneath him. When he finally got down to the other man's crotch, he spent a few minutes just playing with him. He slipped a condom on his cock, and licked and sucked around it, teasing until he heard Chris draw in a breath to curse him out. Then, he looked up, grinned at him, winked, and swallowed him down, sucking hard. He lifted his head a little, accounting for the arching hips, and kept going. Chris had bitten his lip trying to keep himself from making those deep, loud noises Gibbs had heard in the dream. Instead, he was rasping out deep breaths, panting his want. It made Gibbs shudder with need. Watching him come undone under his touch was damn arousing on its own. He shuddered a little, and drew in a long breath, hands fondling Chris' balls. A few more bobs later, Chris exhaled, one long, soft groan, and Gibbs felt the warmth of his cum fill the condom. He pulled off and moved back up, kissing him thoroughly until he came down a little more.

 

After they got Chris cleaned up, they lay entangled and kissing for a long few minutes, Gibbs slowly hardening again.

 

"Now, then, Marshall, let's take care of this," Chris whispered, one hand fondling Gibbs' cock, the other reaching for another condom.

 

At the touch, Gibbs closed his eyes in pleasure, and laid back to enjoy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The morning dawned early, and they still hadn't quite ironed out the exact plan. They knew that they wanted to split up in two teams: one tapping phones and one working with Pauline to catch Earl in the act. Josiah and Ellie had begun to get along pretty well together, and so they were set in charge of the other two doing the tapping. McGee let it slide, mostly because Sanchez had more years in than any of them. He didn't want the leadership roles, but when both Buck and Chris were gone, he gravitated to them naturally. They were sitting around the kitchen table, laptops open, trying to iron out a plan of attack. A call to Orrin Travis had the warrants in hand from both NCIS and ATF, so they were able to move without worrying about that.

 

The rest of the men were sitting in the living room, trying to iron out the sting. "Well, we know Corporal Taylor, so we should talk to him. It's his thing that got stolen, anyway, right?" Of course, DiNozzo was running his mouth again. Chris chuckled, but the kid had a good point.

 

"Could." He looked over at Gibbs, quirking an eyebrow, asking what he thought. Gibbs grunted, a sound that could either be assent or needing more explanation.

 

DiNozzo apparently knew what he meant, because he continued. "Well, McCallen doesn't know who his daughter is working for, does he?"

 

"Except, Mister DiNozzo, the lady herself was afraid that he had hired a private investigator to watch them. So, he may indeed have dossiers on the whole Taylor family. Lord knows he saw the little one." Ez piped up, his drawl more pronounced in the morning. He lifted his cup of coffee in salute to the man, and Ez winked, lifting his own in response.

 

"Oh, yeah." Gibbs reached up, slapped his senior field agent on the back of the head.

 

"Mister Larabee," Ezra grinned, "Perhaps that would be a good means by which to control the residents of the CDC."

 

"Applies to my whole team, Standish," Gibbs grunted, drawing a long drink of his coffee. Chris pointedly kept his eyes on his notebook, refusing to watch his lover's muscles working . . . . He closed his eyes, shaking his head. It was pretty much inevitable that he'd think of the night before. Jethro huffed a quiet laugh, having caught the look.

 

Chris gathered his wits about him and looked over at Ezra pointedly. "Means I get to slap your styled and sharp head when you come in late, Ez. Still want to do that?"

 

"Nossir, things are fine as they stand." Gibbs and Chris both grinned, and the boys all laughed. Ezra just looked sheepish.

 

They continued to plan, things firming up quickly. Vin would introduce himself as a friend of Señior Ortega and talk to her in Spanish for a while. From there, the guys would all range around in various ways, and they'd wait until Earl would say or do something incriminating. There was already a pool on how long it would take. Gibbs had bet twenty minutes. The lowest was five seconds, and the highest was two hours. Either way, the boys didn't think it would take that long. Chris grinned and they got to work, getting the op set up.

 

 

 


End file.
